Matters of Loyalty
by kishiboujin
Summary: The Eastern Rebellion wrought many horrors. Years later, an enemy from the past threatens the lives of Mustang and his people. Can he stop a mad alchemist bent on revenge before it is too late? Slight royai.
1. Demons in the Firelight

**Summary** – The Ishbal Rebellion wrought many horrors, for some a mission to Medes was pure hell. Years later, while based at Eastern Headquarters, Mustang and Co. discover that the ghosts of the past rest uneasily.

**Author's Note** – I am trying to stick close to canon and fit it into the timeline when Mustang and company were stationed at Eastern Headquarters. Replies would be greatly appreciated.

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**Matters of Loyalty**

_When you're part of a team, you stand up for your teammates. Your loyalty is to them. You protect them through good and bad, because they'd do the same for you. –**Yogi Berra **_

**Demons in the Firelight**

The Past

Surely it was a dream, a nightmare wrought of stress and instability, but a fantasy that would vanish the moment Sergeant Riza Hawkeye opened her eyes. It was a rationalization like so many she clung to those ten long months she had spent on the front lines of the Ishbal Rebellion, part of a larger war that seemed to know no end.

So far, she had been lucky, some scrapes and bruises, a ricochet and a few shots that came a little too close for comfort. Yes, she had been lucky compared to the constant flow of wounded who were missing limbs, their sight or their hearing, casualties of this war that she still did not completely understand why they were fighting. Though, she admitted, it could be worse, she had seen too many body bags filled with the fallen. All just like her, struggling in this sandy hell in the name of the Motherland.

Still, she counted herself lucky. She was not the average soldier, she admitted. A woman on the frontlines, or in any posting outside of the medical arts was almost unheard of in the military. Though their numbers were growing, women were still outnumbered more than a hundred to one. She may never have seen any fighting were it not for one simple fact: she was a damn good shot.

Though the life of a sharpshooter was known to be extremely short, Hawkeye figured it had saved her so far. Something told her she would have been dead if she were regular infantry. The war gods safe in their protected command centers far from the fighting ordered men into the meat grinder with no more care than cattle to the slaughter.

Pinpoints of light danced behind her closed eyelids, exploding into brilliant bursts with even the slightest movement.

Her body ached all over and she was almost certain that every bone had been shattered when she was thrown to the ground by the concussive force of the blast—_series of_ _blasts_. The very earth had shuddered and the surrounding buildings that pinned her squad in crumbled.

Maybe she was dead and this was hell.

Crushed stone that covered her prone body fell away as she pushed herself into a sitting position, her arms trembling as they struggled to bear her weight. The air was so thick with dust and smoke that it made her eyes burn and scratch with every painful blink as she tried to survey her surroundings.

A cry tore from her, but at the moment she could not tell the source, whether it be physical pain or mental. A thousand emotions ranging from grief to sheer terror flooded through her veins.

Forcing her eyes open, Hawkeye stared into the thickness that surrounded her—choked her. She coughed violently, desperate to expel the smoke and dust that was filling her lungs but it was no use. Burning embers flew about, dancing like devils, mocking her struggle for breath.

She was going to die here.

This was far from what she imagined as her fate. Often seeing herself as an old woman surrounded by children and grandchildren, not choking to death in some abandoned village so far from home.

Hawkeye's body rebelled against attempts at movement, but she could not just sit there and wait calmly for death. It was not in her nature to give up so easily. As long as she could, she would continue to fight. Brushing her hands through the rubble on the ground, she sought out her rifle. It had fallen from her grip when the explosions and the bell tower came crashing down.

The snap and crackle of flames made her look uneasily around but could see little in the clouded air. The sunlight tried to filter through, allowing her with some difficulty to see if there was movement. All seemed still save the distant flicker of orange.

Comfort flooded through her as she wrapped her fingers around the familiar shape of a rifle stock. She tugged at it, pulling it from under a large stone that had landed dangerously close to her. A trembling hand examined the piece of wall and she realized just how lucky she was. It would have killed her had it landed on her.

As soon as she freed her weapon, her heart sank. She easily spied the bent barrel. Tears welled in her eyes as she gripped the useless weapon.

Sounds of movement drew her attention and she turned, instinctively aiming the broken weapon toward the source. "Who is there?" she demanded but the foul air only made her cough. Dropping the rifle, she sank forward, clutching a dirty sleeve to her face as she violently hacked. Her rich blue uniform was grey with soot and dust.

Panic settled in when the pain in her chest did not subside and she kept coughing. Hawkeye knew she had to get a hold of herself and control the noise. She was giving her position away to the enemy.

They could still be out there.

If she could survive the explosion, then likely some of the Hareti had too.

Medes was a village of the damned, according to the Ishbalan people where the exiled, those who had defied God's law often found refuge. They had come to be called the Hareti, easily identified by their facial tattoos that identified them as sinners. In the early days of fighting, they had been thought so dangerous by the Fuhrer, he ordered the city cleared, for fear they would inspire wide scale revolt among the Ishbalans.

Only later did military come to understand that the Ishbal people did not need the Hareti to be driven to fight.

Medes was supposed to be abandoned. Officially, after the fighting, the survivors were shipped off to refuge camps, but unofficially, the State took no prisoners.

All that should have been was the renegade State Alchemist, Odessa Rhodes, and her lover the Hareti leader, Hirada, as well as a few of his remaining followers.

It was supposed to be an easy apprehension, so easy in fact that Colonel Grand only allocated the bare minimum of soldiers to the job, a squad apiece, one under the command of Soham and the other to support the one alchemist amongst them as they tried to take down Rhodes and Hirada.

Somewhere along the line, a few remaining followers had swelled into several hundred. Each possessed the single-minded desire to destroy the invaders with such fervor that they would forsake their teachings and god to accomplish this goal.

The uneasy feeling Hawkeye had when they entered Medes was confirmed when they had been ambushed.

Fear gripped her as her lungs continued to force the smoke and dust out. They could not all be dead, whispered in her mind like a poisonous mantra. With a thought as clear as the air had been only a short time before, she knew that if they were not, she would not get out of this alive.

She coughed, gasping and gagging, unable to control herself as she lurched forward, barely possessing the strength to keep from falling back to the rubble-strewn ground. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she felt the wet stickiness of blood.

"Take it easy," a softened voice whispered. "No point getting stressed out now."

She strained to see the source of the voice and a thin smile traced across her lips as she discarded her rifle and crawled over the debris strewn ground to where Jean Havoc was slumped against the wall.

"Keep you head low," he said.

Obeying she ducked down, into the shade of a broken wall where Havoc sat. Gray powder covered him so completely that she could not tell where his short blond hair ended and his skin began. At his side, he still gripped his gun, but it was the dark stain across his chest that drew Hawkeye's immediate attention.

"You've been shot," she said as she tried to unbutton the blue jacket. "We've got to stop the bleeding."

He laughed weakly. "Trying to hook up with every pretty girl I saw ever since arriving here and only now is one trying to get me out of uniform."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"I'm going to have a story or two to tell."

"Mention this and you'll wish you had died here."

He laughed again and then shifted, wincing in pain. He shoved his gun at her. "There are still a few bullets."

"You hang on—"

"I can't shoot, not like this."

She sighed and reluctantly took the weapon. A distant sound drew her startled attention. Her nerves felt raw as she gripped the gun, feeling the grit of sand and rock between her fingers and the metal. "Anyone else out there?" she called but her voice felt so small compared to the crackle of the fires and the crush of falling walls in the distance.

Around her she could hear voices, soft grunts and groans of other soldiers. After a moment, they called out their names, identifying themselves. A mental count revealed ten of the twelve members of the squad were still alive, even if Havoc and two others were wounded.

Of the two that did not answer, Sergeant Merton had died in the first minutes of the attack and Walberton had been next to her when he took a bullet to the head. The only person unaccounted for was their leader, Major Mustang, as well as the entire other squad and their commander, Major Soham.

Another fit of coughs struck her as she tried to filter the air through her dirty sleeve. Her voice was muffled as she spoke, "We need to get out of here."

"Where's the Major?" Havoc asked.

_Head toward the outskirts._

_Sir?_

_Do as I say!_

She looked toward the center of the village but a wall of debris blocked it where the bell tower had come down cutting them off from the target. Beyond it, black smoke billowed up. "He went that way."

"He blew them all up," came another voice through the haze. She recognized it but could not place it to a face at the moment.

Yes, that was what happened. Hawkeye remembered now. Their ammo was running out. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of armed Hareti. They had been cut off from Major Soham and his men. She did not even know if they were dead or alive.

The Ishbal attacked with explosives, and blankets of weapon fire. Though all their weapons were crude, they were effective in large numbers. She swore she even spied State issue rifles in some of their hands and wondered if they had been picked up off the corpses of soldiers or if they were obtained another way.

A supply train had been attacked near Gyali two weeks ago.

Soham's men, who had been ahead, driven there by the arrogant officer who was determined not to be shown up by the upstart alchemist, took the brunt of the attack. She remembered falling back, maneuvering into a safer position as her own superior, Mustang, barked orders, directing them and sparing them from a quick death.

_Cover me!_

Possessing the firepower of a battalion with just a snap, the Major had dove into the fray, bringing down the insurgents with explosive ease.

Buildings exploded, the air became like an oven and men burst into flames.

_snap_

Somewhere along the line, she had lost sight of the Major as the armed Hareti besieged the squad. The firefight seemed to last forever but judging from the glow of sunlight trying to filter through the thick smoke, maybe an hour had passed if that.

There had been an explosion.

Several.

The next thing she knew, she was in hell.

Hawkeye gripped the gun in her shaking hand. Her hands had never shook before, not like this. Moving away from Havoc, she felt around like a blind person, reaching desperately through the gloom, her fingers brushing the broken stone wall that had come down so close to them, blocking the way into the heart of the village. Perhaps saving them from the brunt of the explosion.

"Where are you going?" Havoc asked, his voice sounding more distant.

"We can't stay here. There has to be a way out. Fresh air." She climbed up the rock, stumbling and struggling.

"The Major said go the other way."

"The Major is gone," she replied, realizing that he was likely buried under the tons of debris with hopefully all the Ishbalan rebels. "I have to know if there is anyone alive." She was not going to get shot in the back as they fled Medes. Everything shifted under her weight making the climb difficult. The air seemed to grow thicker and she thought she would pass out, her lungs aching so terribly as she pushed her way to the top of the rubble.

A blast of heat hit her face as she reached the zenith. She squinted through scratchy, watery eyes and saw the shattered husks of what had been buildings that lined the street. Flames licked the sky, devouring anything in their path. The bell tower could have fallen anywhere during the series of explosions that had destroyed everything but something told her that it was likely brought down in a very controlled manner.

Nothing but devastation remained.

The smoke burned her eyes and her vision blurred as she struggled against another coughing fit. The smell of burned flesh hit her and she nearly tumbled to her knees sick. Her body shook violently as she gagged on the smell.

A sound to her side sparked an immediate, barely conscious reaction. She twisted, leveling the gun in a two handed grip and squeezed the trigger.

_click_

_click_

A figure took shape in the murky haze.

_click_

The empty chamber gave up nothing even as she kept trying to fire. Her heart—her breath—everything ceased save the movement of that one finger as she pulled the trigger again and again.

A slight nudge against the muzzle snapped her out of it as a body pressed against the weapon. She remained frozen, holding her aim steady at the man's heart.

Firelight reflected in empty black eyes.

"Major?" she whispered, her voice almost non-existent.

Flames danced, lighting the dust filtered world but gave no color to his emotions as he stared at her and it frightened her. She could read nothing in the gaze, not anger, regret, desire or remorse.

He was the one of all the State Alchemists—the human artillery—that she feared the most.

The formerly crisp blue uniform the Major had worn was now black, even singed and burned away in places. The side of his face was black from blood and soot. He looked down at the gun still pointed at him and gripped the muzzle in a gloved hand that had Hawkeye not seen before, would never have guess it had once been white. He pulled the weapon roughly from her grip and stared at if for a moment. "You are out of bullets," he said flatly, almost regrettably. As if it took more strength than he possibly possessed, he weakly tossed the weapon off to the side. "You're going the wrong way."

"Sir—"

"There is no one alive back there," he said as he started to climb down the rubble of the crushed building toward the remaining soldiers. "They are all dead."


	2. The Quality of Sin

Thank you Shadow Dreamer 27 and solitaire for the replies they are greatly appreciated. No worries, I'm already 6 chapters ahead and totally plan on finishing it in the next month or so.

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**The Quality of Sin**

The Present

Sand blew across the sparsely populated streets of Gyali, the last port of civilization between the eastern frontier and Ishbal and the Great Desert. For a time now, it had been quiet, seeing little activity since the end of the Ishbal rebellion six years earlier, but still was considered important to the State. At least, that was what General Hakuro had said when he had given Lt. Colonel Soham his latest assignment to oversee the small group of troops there.

At first, it had sounded like a glorious assignment, but it was a virtual ghost town Soham learned upon arrival. The post held at most a hundred men acting as little more than a military police force where the area was lacking civilian law.

For Soham, the posting was an insult at best. He certainly earned better treatment than this exile when others, much younger, had earned a higher rank and better station than he had.

The tall man snarled as he stormed through the sparse market as five armed soldiers in black and one Lieutenant struggled to keep caught up with his long strides. "I don't like this quiet," the Lt. Colonel said as he looked to the blond haired man next to him, Lt. Jarrow. "The locals are up to something."

"Perhaps, sir, the executions this morning of suspected rebels—"

"They were not suspected. They were plotting against the State," Soham sternly corrected.

"Yes, sir."

And that was how it went, when the Lt. Colonel spoke, no one questioned him. It may have been a lousy posting but he would do his job with relish and get back into the graces of the higher ups. He would mercilessly put down any hints of rebellion and to keep his small section of the East quiet.

Just the other day they had raided a dry goods shop that was a front for a refugee escape route. They had been secreting unaccounted for Ishbalans away from the military controlled camps. Certainly insurgents who had escaped capture were moving through these secret routes, flooding potential rebels into Amestris.

He would make certain Central got word of this. His star would definitely rise.

From the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the shadows of one of the fruit stands pushed up against a wall. A cruel smile slid across his features as he motioned to the five armed men that stood behind him. "Take them into custody!"

As the men moved to obey, Jarrow looked up from his clipboard. "Under what pretenses, sir?"

Soham turned and glared at the young man. He was growing tired of Jarrow always questioning his orders. He was the military around here. He was the law! He was about to snap at the young man when the earth seemed to shift beneath his feet. He retreated a step and looked around. "What is this?"

Bursting out of the ground was a long, jagged shard of glass. It tore into one of the soldiers before he could even travel a few steps. Jarrow narrowly missed being impaled by a second shard and was sent tumbling to the ground. The instant he landed with a dull thud, his clipboard fell free, clattering over the sandy street and sent loosed paperwork swirling about in the breeze that coursed through Gyali.

Terror filled Soham as he looked to the other men who were retreating. Angrily, he pointed to the people who were sheltered beneath the fruit stand awning. "Take them!" he bellowed. "If anyone gives you trouble, shoot them!"

Just as the men nodded in determination and rushed forward to carry out their superior's bloody orders, a voice called out: "Stop!"

Soham snarled. "Who dares?"

From the shadows emerged a dozen men, their dark skin and glaring red eyes easily identified them as Ishbalan. The same arching tattoo with gray painted bars across their eyes like a mask was far more striking than their skin or eyes.

The mark of the exiled.

"Hareti," the Lt. Colonel whispered almost without realizing it.

One of the men stepped forward. He was dressed plainly, common for an Ishbalan save for the rusted red cloth draped across his right shoulder, a sign that he was teacher and followed by many. His lips formed a thin smile. "You remember us, Major Soham."

The officer laughed boldly. "I haven't been a major since the days of the Ishbal uprising." And while he spat the words, showing his disdain for these Ishbalan scum, the truth was he was terrified. He remembered Medes and crawling out from under the charred, bullet riddled corpses of his men.

Medes was the reason he had nearly been court marshaled and put before the firing squad for costing the lives of a dozen young soldiers, some quality sharpshooters that then Colonel Grand had been unhappy to loose. He had been called a coward for his part in Medes, while another had been called a hero.

At the edge of his vision he saw his four remaining men, their rifles shaking so violently that they likely could not hit the side of a building as well as the useless Jarrow, which was no match for these barbarians that moved to surround he and his men.

The woman's voice he had heard earlier called out. "Or perhaps, we should just call you the Butcher of Medes?"

From behind the man who had spoken appeared a woman. She was dressed in sand colored fatigues. Formerly black hair was salted with a generous amount of gray that she had tied back in a tight knot.

Smirking, Soham recognized her immediately. "So you have finally come to turn yourself in?"

"Of course not, Lt. Colonel." Her lips twisted into a strangely warm smile and she spoke with a light, pleasant tone. "I've come to kill you."

The smile bled from Soham's face as he struggled to keep his composure.

The frightened voices of his men caught Soham's attention. They murmured and stared at the shredded body of their fellow soldier still hanging off the shards of glass that had appeared to magically sprout from the earth.

"You should have stayed dead, Odessa Rhodes," Soham growled. "Shoot her!"

It took a moment too long for them to react. Rifles fired but bullets were stopped by thick walls of solid glass that rose up like a damn, shielding the woman and the man from the attack.

Without even a word whispered, the gathered Ishbalan men suddenly raced into action. Even as bullets flew past, they did not hesitate, racing forward and slaughtering the four soldiers with knives and heavy farm tools.

Odessa remained crouched, her hands pressed to the ground in front of her. The wall of glass twisted as if fluid then shattered, raining shards down between her and Soham. She remained motionless even as she spoke softly, "I can still hear their screams as the temple burned. Mothers and their children crying out for revenge." She looked to the Ishbalan men who stood over the bodies of the four soldiers. "Their wives and children."

Jarrow shifted nervously from where he lay on the ground. The Ishbal turned to glare at him but did not move. Blood oozed from a deep gash on his left cheek where he had scraped it hitting the ground.

Remaining crouched, Odessa straightened slightly, raising her hands from the dusty street and revealing the black alchemic arrays tattooed to her palms and fingertips. "Their cries will not be silenced until those responsible are dead."

Soham snarled. "You should speak, traitor." He spat on the ground. "You betrayed tactical information of the State to that Ishbal rebel." He pointed a damning finger toward the man next to Odessa. He would bet his life on the fact that was Hirada himself. "You helped in moving arms to the rebels prolonging the war. You are responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of dead soldiers."

The smile melted from Odessa's face. "I saw the truth of the war against the Ishbal. I could not serve the State as their Healing Touch Alchemist."

It was not a soldier's place to question his orders or the Fuhrer. "Traitorous bitch!"

"Be thou for the people."

"Our people, not these Ishbalan barbarians!"

"They did nothing but inhabit the land the State wanted. They were peaceful people, forced into war."

The men, holding primitive weapons, farming equipment, rushed at Soham. Chains lashing out as shovels came crashing toward the tall man. He cried out as he was battered in all directions. The wind knocked from him, he doubled over in agony as clubs shattered ribs.

"That's enough," Hirada, who stood next to Odessa barked and instantly, the other tattooed men obeyed. They retreated from the bloodied, groaning mess.

This was not fair! Soham thought as he struggled, weakly to try and get up. Sent into exile with a lousy posting, incompetent soldiers and now…now he was going to die at the hands of an insane woman.

Below him, the ground rumbled, shifted and erupted as crystalline shards tore through the street and into soft flesh, suspending him above the ground. Blood flowed down the jagged pieces, pooling on the dusty street below.

Listening to the dying gasps, Odessa paused only a moment before standing up. She shook the sand and grit from her hands.

Such messy business alchemy.

No, that's not the way to approach it, she thought, otherwise she was no better than the alchemists that destroyed Ishbal. She was not an animal or a blind fool who followed orders indiscriminately. No, she was better than that.

The gurgle of blood-filled lungs drew her attention and she crossed the distance between her and where Soham's body hung like a scarecrow in the middle of the street. She did not meet his dying gaze but instead looked to the five dead soldiers. "You killed them just the same as when in Medes. You led all those young men to the slaughter and then fled like a coward. You can't run now."

Fluid-filled laughter. "I didn't even know about the weapons or the Hareti, I just wanted to capture you. My star would have soared." Soham coughed, winced and then slowly added, "They will hunt every last one of you down. My death will not go unpunished."

Odessa stared at the dying man. His pained face left the bitter taste of disgust in her mouth. "Yes, our deaths are certain, but then again, everyone dies, some sooner than others."

Soham's head slumped forward as a last, gurgling breath escaped him.

"You should have let me do it," Hirada said from behind.

"No," she said evenly, hiding the sadness that seemed to invade her. Soham was scum, he deserved to die, she told herself. "I had to do it. I am the only one who can kill the other one. I have to learn what it is to take lives."

"You should not have to. We are more than enough in number. An ambush—"

"They came after me."

Hirada placed a hand on her shoulder. "They would have come for us eventually. You should not blame yourself."

Perhaps. Perhaps not. Innocents died at Medes. If the military had not sent soldiers for her, then perhaps, they would have had time to help the women and children escape.

Jarrow shifted, trying to crawl away from the scene. His eyes were wide with terror.

"Stop him!" Hirada barked and his men started for the young man.

"No," Odessa said. "Leave him be."

"We should leave none of them alive."

"What was his crime?" she asked. "He questioned the orders." She knelt before Jarrow and carefully looked him over. Gentle laughter. "Don't be afraid, boy. If you were meant to die here, you would be dead now." Catching sight of the deep gash along Jarrow's cheek that left the side of his face crimson with blood.

Reaching toward him, Odessa found surprise when Jarrow withdrew slightly, then glanced toward Soham's body still hanging from the shards. She sighed. "Yes, I deserve your fear." She reached out again, this time with more determination, drawing the young man's face close so she could examine the wound. "It's not serious."

"I—I—"

"Don't be afraid, I really do know what I am doing. I was a doctor once."

With a careful touch, she pressed the wounded flesh together with her tattooed fingers. The flow of blood ceased and the wound glowed with a pale purple light before fading to reveal fresh pink of scar tissue.

"I am a little out of practice," she said, "but I promise it looks better than what it would if military doctor got a hold of you and clumsily threaded the wound together. They don't care the butchery, as long as you live."

She stared at the young man's blood still wet on her fingers. The red covered the varied black arrays unique to each pad. Once, she had used them to heal wounded soldiers. Once, before she watched them murder innocent women and children solely because they were Ishbal.

Standing, she looked down at the still shocked soldier. "If you insist on this life, stay behind a desk, but for now, you will be my messenger. Tell them, tell them all, that Odessa Rhodes is seeking revenge for Medes.

"Tell the Flame Alchemist that he is next."


	3. The Face of Home

Here's another chapter. Thanks to sewing life, SakuraSagura, Lady of the Storm and Ari Lupin for your replies. I really do enjoy them and hope you enjoy this post.

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**The Face of Home**

Ed collapsed into the deep maroon cushions of the bench but winced with the soft thud his body made. "That's not very soft," he grumbled before settling into the seat as the wail of a whistle tore through the train car. Folding his hands behind his head, he gave a loud sigh and closed his eyes. "I could have stayed at Chalgrove for another week."

"It was nice," Alphonse said in his customarily tinny voice. His large armored body looked uncomfortable crammed into the bench seat facing his brother. He twisted to look out the window as the car jerked and the train began to move ever so slowly.

He watched people, young and old milling about the station and waving goodbye to friends and loved ones. A young woman with long, light brown hair raced along the platform, tears glistening in her eyes as she waved. She reminded him of…he started to raise his hand as if going to return the wave, like a promise that he would return safely.

_Mom._

As the train picked up speed and the woman feel behind, he realized that she only reminded him of his mother and set his hand back down on his metal knee. "I think it will be good to go back to East City."

"It's not like we have a choice. I've got reports to deliver." Ed cracked an eye open and looked Al over. "You don't like traveling?"

Looking down at his metal and leather hands, Al shook his head. "Of course I do, Brother, but sometimes I like staying in one place." When he looked up, his height gave him the advantage of looking over most of the car and noticed a number of passengers staring at him. They always stared. At least at Eastern, they did not stare nearly as much as they used too. He liked that.

"Nothing is normal, but back at East City, there are familiar faces like Lieutenants Hawkeye and Havoc and I like Sergeant Fury, and there is the same bed to sleep in and places I enjoy going."

"Yeah, but when you are a dog of the military, you expect to be sent off on missions on short notice."

"I know."

Ed opened both of his eyes and looked at the hulking form. "I know you miss home, but there is nothing left for us back there."

"Auntie Pinako and Winry are back there."

Exhaling heavily, Ed sat up and stared at the figure across from him. "I know, Al. I know. I'm just not ready."

"I know."

The train station and signs of Chalgrove had disappeared into rolling hills and valleys speckled with little houses with smoke curling from fireplaces and black and white cattle milling in the pastures. Though Risembool was nearly five days south by train, the land was not so different from Al's memories of home.

Shifting his gaze back, the younger Elric noted the tense posture Ed had taken on with his arms folded across his chest and the skin between his brows furrowed. "You shouldn't let him get to you," Al said, sensing the unnamed source of Ed's irritation.

Mock laughter then Ed lowered his voice, mocking Colonel Mustang. "Stand up Ed so I can see you! Where'd he go?" he bellowed as he pretended to be looking around.

Al could not help himself and laughed at Ed's over exaggerated act. "It can't be that bad."

Huffing, Ed folded his arms across his chest. "Let's just get that part over with quickly."

"Yes, brother," came the patient agreement. Ed was much easier to get along with when he was not agitated.

Looking out the window, Al stared toward the bright yellow sun low in the late afternoon sky. They would reach East City by in about twenty-four hours. He was looking forward to it as the train raced over tracks stretching through the countryside like a ribbon and rattling his metal body with every bump and uneven bit of track they hit.

"Well what a surprise," a voice said shattering the boy's reverie.

Ed and Al looked up at the interloper and Ed broke into a wide grin. "Lieutenant Colonel Hughes."

The tall man sank to the bench that Ed was sitting on, forcing the blond haired youth to scoot closer to the sidewall. Sunlight reflected off his rectangular spectacles. "And here I thought it was going to be a quiet ride to East City."

"What brings you out this far?" Al asked happily, thrilled to see a familiar face.

"Oh, just some investigations, checking out some possible corruption a little farther north. Nothing all that exciting." He laughed.

Al caught the glow of suspicion in Ed's look before it quickly passed.

"Yeah, I thought since I'm this close to Eastern HQ, I might as well swing by and say hello."

"So the Colonel doesn't know you are coming?" Ed asked.

"Nope. I just love to see that look of surprise on Roy's face," Maes Hughes said with a mischievous grin. "Besides, do you know how long it's been since he's since pictures of Elicia? She's grown so much!" From inside his brown jacket, he pulled a handful of pictures of little Elicia. "Isn't she so cute!" he cooed thrusting the images toward Ed.

"It's good to see you haven't changed much," Ed said, examining the photos. "Still insane," he mumbled.

Tales of Hughes' family life gave way to general conversation and then quiet as the train continued its journey across the land. Along the distant horizon, where the evening sun dipped behind gently rising hills and tree lines blazed with the Sun God Leto's fury. The thought made Al briefly wonder how Rose was doing but the thought faded as the train whistle blew.

Al realized that he was not tired and the truth was that he rarely every was. His metal body did not suffer fatigue as a flesh one would. He stared down at his large hands, drawing them into fits and then relaxing them again. In some ways, this body was better, but it was still not _his_ body.

Sometimes, when it was quiet, he found only a strange sense of unsettlement. It gave him time to think about all he had lost—all he and Ed had lost.

He looked up at his brother who was staring out the window too, staring at nothing in particular. He wondered what Ed was thinking about, but a small part of him already knew. Three years had passed and nothing had really changed. Although Al did not look at it so bleakly even though it was often easy to. He and Ed were still together and still searching and still traveling. And maybe, for all the bad things that had happened, it was okay as long as they continued on, though one day he did hope to get his body back.

It was selfish, he sometimes thought, but he just wanted to be normal again. He did not think it was too much to ask even if he knew this was punishment for trespassing on sacred ground. His brother pushed so hard, never giving the search for a way to set things right. He was confident that Ed would find a way and that he would be there to help.

"A penny for your thoughts," Hughes said softly as he stopped before the two facing seats. In each hand he held a mug of steaming hot chocolate. Nudging a cup toward Ed, he added, "These train rides can get cold at night, even in the East."

Ed smiled and Al did so inwardly. He liked the Lieutenant Colonel. He treated them for what they were, kids in a strange situation and not like tools of the State or as trouble as so many did when they realized the truth about them.

"It could be worse," Ed said with a laugh before he sipped the steaming drink. "We could be in the far north. I hear it is a cold, miserable place that no one deserves to be exiled to."

"It depends on whether you like snow or not," Hughes said, scooting back next to Ed. He stirred his drink. "You two look like you need a little downtime. Even Al looks like he needs some rest."

"I do?" It surprised the boy, but after a few moments, he realized that it might be true. His spirit though was dragging.

Between sips, Ed said, "I'll get Al polished up and he'll look as good as new."

"Maybe get some of the sand that's still in me cleaned out," the younger said as he shook an arm over the bit of empty seating. Fine grains of sand fell and bounced over the dark maroon upholstery. He looked back at Ed and urged, "And you'll get some sleep, right, Brother?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I don't think you will have to push him too hard," Hughes said with a chuckle. "The moment he hits a soft bed, he'll be out."

"I hardly consider those army issue bunks soft," Ed said.

"Anything can be soft when you are tired."

"That's true, I've fallen asleep against Al plenty of times."

"You know," Hughes said in a chipper tone, though keeping it soft so not to disturb the other quiet passengers in the car. "Sometimes I feel a twinge of jealousy when I look at you two."

"Why?" Al asked curiously, unsure what someone like Hughes with his wife and little girl could be jealous of.

"That you are brothers." He sipped his drink as the train car rocked as it passed over the tracks. "I don't have any brothers, but I have two older sisters. I think they are best friends, but the truth is I don't know them very well. They were both off and married by the time I was five. What I wouldn't have given to have a brother. I begged my parents but they thought I was nuts."

"Go figure," Ed teased.

Hughes smiled and elbowed Ed making their drinks slosh dangerously close to the cup rims. "It's just great the way you two have each other's backs and understand each other."

"But Lieutenant Colonel," Al said as he watched the two elbow each other and then try not to spill their hot drinks in their laps. "Not all family is blood. I don't know my father and he is related, but I think of Auntie Pinako and Winry as family and they are not. Aren't you and Colonel Mustang good friends? You remind me of me and Ed, you're like brothers."

Hughes just stared at Al for a moment and then chuckled. "I guess so."


	4. Aches and Pains in the Ass

Thank you so much for the reply sewing life, you don't know how much I appreciate it. I enjoy what readers have to say, it let's me know what's liked and what's not working.

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**Aches and Pains in the Ass**

"Forget about it," Jean Havoc said as he stumbled over his chair desperate to escape. "No way!" A thud echoed through the staff room as he hit the wall, his hands held up defensively as he stared wide eyed at Master Sergeant Fury standing on the opposite side of the desk grouping in the center of the office.

The young man still held the greenish-grey folder out toward Havoc. "At least you know what you're doing. You could have this filled out so much faster." When Havoc only shook his head, Fury added, "I'll trade you something then."

"I believe the Lieutenant has a date tonight," Falman said from his place at the desk next to Fury.

Grabbing the folder from Fury, Breda then stuffed a stack of papers in the younger man's hands. "I'll trade you."

"Thanks, I think," Fury said looking at the stack.

Opening the folder and looking over the forms, Breda then paused and looked to Havoc who was still leaning against the wall. He suspiciously raised a red eyebrow. "You mean you've gone a whole week without the Colonel swiping her?"

"Oh, really funny," Havoc said as he picked up his chair and then found his place at the desk again. Brushing his hand over the pale polished wooden surface, he scooped up the cigarette he had dropped during his escape and casually stuck it back in his mouth. "Eugenie really likes me."

A few stifled coughs circled the room.

"What? I'm likeable," Havoc said, feeling slightly offended. "Really."

Just then the door swung open to reveal First Lieutenant Hawkeye. She gave the four men a cursory inspection as she entered the office.

Havoc offered her a wide grin. "Hey, Hawkeye, can I borrow Black Hayate for a few hours this evening?"

"It's a dog, not a book," Falman said.

Breda laughed. "If it was a book, Havoc wouldn't want anything to do with it."

Not waiting for the next attack on his character, Havoc planted his elbows on the desk. "What is this? Beat up on Havoc day?" He offered Hawkeye another grin. "I promise, no more stir fry jokes. Can I please borrow Black Hayate?"

Riza Hawkeye turned and stared at him even as she pulled the door open to the Colonel Mustang's office.

Leaning to the side so he could look past Hawkeye's gently curved hip into the larger office, Havoc saw what had the Lieutenant's attention. "Well, that explains why it's been so quiet this morning."

The other three men strained to see as well. Hawkeye stood there frozen, her knuckles white as she gripped the knob of the open door staring into the Colonel's office.

Inside the quiet office was a desk situated before the two tall windows that was as always sparsely occupied by the phone and a simple paper tray. The only addition to the dark wooden surface was the very tall stack of papers sitting in the center in front of a very asleep Colonel. He was in his usual position, pen clasped in his right hand and his left holding his head up.

"You shouldn't have left him alone all morning," Havoc said with a smirk.

"I was at the shooting range," Hawkeye said in a low tone. "Where were you all morning?"

The smirk melted into a grimace. "I was here," Havoc said evenly. "Doing paperwork. I have a date and I want to get out of here early."

"You should have been checking in on him."

"I didn't want to be roasted first thing this morning."

"Coward."

"Yes, I am," Havoc said proudly. "So what about it?" he persisted. "I'll take him for a walk and feed him."

"You fed him a pot of beans last time."

Breda leaned over to Falman and whispered, "Are they talking about the Colonel or the dog?"

"I'm not sure," was the simple reply.

"But Eugenie loves dogs," Havoc said.

"You're bribing the poor girl with a dog?" Fury squeaked.

"That's just sad," Breda laughed.

"Hey, it was worth a try." When Havoc noticed Hawkeye was not about to consent to his request, he lazily leaned back in the chair and rubbed his right shoulder. The familiar dull ache seemed to thread its way through muscle and bone and nothing he did could ease it. "Forget about it. It's going to rain tonight anyway. I'll just take her to one of those fancy far eastern cuisine places where they eat with sticks. She'll like that."

Fury shifted to look out the late morning window. Bright sunlight poured in, as it did from every unobstructed window on that side of the building. Beams of yellow sunlight even splashed across the sleeping Colonel's desk. "It doesn't look like rain," the young man said as he adjusted his glasses.

"My shoulder never lies," Havoc firmly replied in a tone often unfamiliar in the blond haired man.

"Maybe you should get it checked," Hawkeye offered as she glanced down at him from over her shoulder.

"Nah," he said, waving her off. "They'll just tell me it's in my head anyway."

"They have doctors for that too."

From within the Colonel's office a soft clatter was heard. It might as well have been a cannon blast for it drew silent, but terror filled attention from everyone.

At the desk, Mustang was still asleep, still propped on his left hand. The pen though had fallen from his fingers but not because they were lax from sleep. They twitched from dream, bare finger pads softly snapping together.

Havoc pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and checked it, relieved that it was not lit. "One of these days, he's going to blow us all up."

"Don't say that," Hawkeye snapped then frowned and sighed as she entered the office and marched up to the desk. "Colonel, you have paperwork to sign." Then she threatened, "You are not going home until it is done. I don't care if it is Friday and I don't care if you have a date." When Mustang did not respond, still only silently snapping his bare fingers together, she added, "The war is over."

Havoc barely heard the words spoken, but felt their weight like a bullet in the chest. "No, it's not." He rubbed his shoulder and knew that Hawkeye did not say those words lightly. If anything, she was like him, who only wished they could dispel the demons of memory. She'd seen action in the last years of the rebellion, same as he had. She had been at Medes as well. And though they rarely ever spoke of the past, he knew the things that haunted her for they haunted him as well, but he knew he could only imagine what the Colonel had seen during those bloody days.

Damn, he thought. Fine time for it to rain, it was going to get him all out of whack before his date. He hated it when his shoulder ached and yet, for some strange reason it was aching more than usual; had been for weeks. The pain took him back to places he did not like visiting.

"Hey, didn't you take a bullet to the shoulder during the rebellion?" Fury curiously asked.

"Yeah, I still have it."

"In a place of honor?"

God that kid's so naïve. "Nope, still in my shoulder. It got me out of the fighting for a few months and by the time I was fit to return to action, it was almost over and all was left was clean up."

"Well, you lucked out."

"I think I would have rather been on patrol all those months than go through what happened to get that way again. Being shot is no fun." Suffocating in a hell of smoke and ash, pinned down by heretic Ishbalans was no party either. He could see that other squad, standing there in the open, and no cover to speak of when the bullets started flying. They were all dead in a few blinks of the eye.

"Colonel," Hawkeye's irritated voice drifted into the staff room.

"She's going to shoot him one of these days," Falman said as he shuffled through some paperwork in front of him.

"Not like the first time she's tried." Havoc laughed but noted the others looked at him curiously. No, he was not going to tell them that story.

Again Hawkeye's tense voice was heard in the Colonel's office. "Sir. Colonel."

He remembered the fear that once lit her voice, that day in Medes. There were plenty of moments he remembered with great clarity, but the tremor in Hawkeye's always steady voice had stayed with him all these years.

_BAM!_

Havoc nearly hit the ceiling as the sharp noise reverberated through the offices. His heart was thundering wildly. He turned toward the source of the sound but at first could only see a flurry of papers where Hawkeye and the Colonel had been. He was on his feet the instant the papers had mostly fluttered to the floor.

Standing there with a handful of tattered papers still in her grip was Hawkeye. She was breathing heavily as she stared at the Colonel who was wide awake. His chair was shoved back against the wall and he was on his feet, his right hand outstretched, finger pressed together as if ready to respond to an immediate threat.

"Hawkeye?" he asked as if suddenly aware of his surroundings. Dropping his hand to his side. "Are you mad?"

"You are unarmed, sir," she said evenly.

Mustang looked down at his bare hand.

Setting the wrinkled stack of paper down on the desk, she picked up the pen and held it out toward him. "Get to work, sir."

Jumping out of the doorway as Hawkeye approached, he heard the Colonel snarl behind her and the squeak of his chair as he sat back down. Everyone in the staff room sat frozen and shocked as the First Lieutenant entered.

Fury was a paler shade of gray as he shook his head silently.

Havoc picked up the cigarette he had dropped and shakily put it back in its place hanging off his lower lip. "There has to be more subtle ways—"

"Sometimes, something stronger than subtle is needed," Hawkeye said as she walked passed and out the main door.

"Yeah."


	5. The Ragged Edge

Thanks sewing life! I have discovered that Havoc can be fun to write. Not to worry Roy-Fan-33, I'll be posting about three times a week hope that helps. Thank you Lady of the Storm and Reius Devirix! You're replies are much appreciated.

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**The Ragged Edge**

The Past

The heat of the day that had made life difficult during the Ishbal campaign bled away as fast as the setting sun leaving the long nights dark and bitterly cold. Campfires dotted the paths between tan tents and soldiers, weary from the constant fighting gathered around, seeking warmth.

The stench of burned coffee and poor rations mingled with the smoky air as figures huddled close, clanking tin cups together in quiet toasts, cheering that they had survived yet another day of battle. The warm liquid, black as the night sky was oft supplemented by something stronger clandestinely passed about in metal flasks.

Hawkeye sighed as she shifted on the ground; the sandy soil was still warm from the day. Her muscles hurt, her bones hurt, hell, even her brain hurt. She wanted to curl up in her bunk and sleep until next week but something told her that she would not. Like so many nights, her sleep would be disturbed, jumping at every sound that came along. It had been months since she truly slept well, and yet, a small part of her knew she slept better than others.

Some nights, when all was still, she could hear terrified cries—her hand automatically going for the gun under her pillow—once her senses fully came alive, she would hear the voices for what they truly were.

Pleas to end the nightmares.

Staring down into her cup of thick, black liquid that was passed off as coffee, she sighed. The stuff was bitter and filled with grit, but it was warm and like most nights, that was what mattered. She missed hot cocoa and wished for a nice big cup of it made from warm milk. Real milk and not that thin, blue tinged stuff the mess hall cooks called milk.

Lt. Walberton, a fellow sharpshooter nudged her, offering her a flask of rum he always kept close at hand. "It'll warm you up."

With a smile, Hawkeye graciously took the offering, holding her cup out as he poured some of the liquid into her coffee. "Thanks."

Flopping down next to her was Havoc, whom she had the fortune of sharing a tent with. There were a lot worse people she could have been stuck with, she figured and if the worst she had to put up with was his smoking and snoring then she counted herself lucky. They made few special accommodations for her or the other female soldiers, the few that there were in the camp. Originally, she had been offered a bunk with the nurses on the far side of the camp, the accommodations might have been better but she wanted to stay with her group, men whom she had trained with and worked alongside with every day for more than a year.

Women do not belong in war, was a popular sentiment around the camp but among men like Havoc and Walberton all they cared about is if she could cover their backs in battle. Her steady hand made her a useful ally as she could pick off enemy combatants from long distances with the same calm as her male counterparts.

"Another cold and crappy night," grumbled the usually good-natured Havoc as he pulled a blanket over his head and shoulders.

"You'll get sand all over your bedding," Hawkeye said, sipping her drink.

"Were don't I have sand," he said and then paused to light his cigarette. It glowed from under the hood of his blanket and smoke rolled out like warm breath in the cool air. "I want to go home."

"Don't we all," Walberton said as he took a swig from the flask then secreted it back under his coat. Alcohol was technically forbidden but most turned the other way, leaving the soldiers what little comfort they could find in that forsaken place.

An uneasy laughter drifted between the three soldiers.

"I think I've forgotten what the color green looks like," Havoc mused from the shadows of his blanket. "I've seen tan, brown, red, tan, yellow, tan and more tan."

"Don't forget blue," Hawkeye added, looking at the blue uniforms reflecting in the firelight of other campfires. All around them were dozens more fires, occupied by soldiers likely carrying on the same conversations they were.

"I hate sand." The blanketed form seemed to collapse inward. "What I wouldn't give to see a field of grass and a river. Do you know how long it has been since I've had a good long shower?"

Walberton pinched his nose and spoke in a high, nasally tone, "Yeah, too long."

Hawkeye laughed, the first time she had in days. "I would love to enjoy a bubble bath."

"I'd love to see you enjoy a bubble bath," Havoc smirked.

Possessed of a good mood, she reached out and lightly punched the blanket where she thought his shoulder was. "Careful."

He raised his cloth-draped hands in surrender. "Just teasing. I don't want to get killed by friendly fire."

"And then…and then…BOOM!"

The three turned to look at a sizeable gathering of young soldiers not too far away. Standing in their midst, lit by the orange glow of their campfire stood Zolf J. Kimbley, the Crimson Alchemist. He was delighting the baby-faced boy's in their crisp blue uniforms with tales of war from his glorious point of view. His pale skin and white undershirt glowed as he illustrated his stories with wild movements.

"Now there is someone who enjoys war," Hawkeye said softly before taking another sip of her drink.

Turning back to their campfire, Walberton said grimly, "I have no love for any of the alchemists. There's just something wrong about it." His gaze was distant, haunted. From his jacket he pulled out the flask again and took a hard swig. "I can kind of understand the dislike the Ishbal have. It is weird."

"Boom!" Kimbley barked, his voice echoing through the night.

"At least you know that he's crazy," Havoc said as he nodded back toward the show.

Which was why she always made sure to keep her distance from the Crimson Alchemist. Something about him made her nervous, but truth be told, she was of similar mind to Walberton. One human being should not possess all that power. At least, within the military all the power is dispersed, dependant on dozens of people to bring destruction raining down on the enemy.

Though she, like the other two was experienced with serving as support for the various alchemists, picking off those who escaped the alchemic attacks, or protecting them from potential snipers. Just the week before, one of the alchemists had been severely wounded by an Ishbalan sharpshooter. The soldiers that had failed to protect him had suffered severe reprimand. Two of them had already been killed after being redeployed in patrols along the more unstable southern districts.

"BOOM!"

A rush of cheers followed Kimbley's tales.

"They're so green they don't know to be afraid of him," Hawkeye said.

"They probably won't live long enough to learn," came Havoc's muffled reply.

Hawkeye watched Kimbley throw his arms up happily as he embarked on another explosive story. She could see the crazy look in his eye. She had seen that in the eyes of many, not just the alchemists. It was the look of those who went mad in war, and who were consumed by bloodlust and felt nothing as they killed and committed atrocities left and right. For some, when the high wore off, the demons came and for others, it seemed their souls so empty that they never felt pain in their actions. Kimbley, she was positive was one such person.

_He was a monster._

"Hey Mustang!" Kimbley called out toward a passing officer. "I was just telling these boys some interesting tales." Something predatory lit his eyes. "You want to join in?"

"No," came the simple reply from the expressionless man.

"Aw, come on, Flame! They want to hear how you set the world on fire."

The distant expression melted as fire leapt in Mustang's eyes like devils as he approached the group. The campfire surged, the flames like a column reaching into the night sky. Startled soldiers scrambled to back away as if afraid they too would burn as flames wildly licked out toward them. Like a snake, the flames slithered through the air, dancing at an unseen command, reaching out to the frightened men, beckoning them toward its fiery heart.

"Show off," Kimbley snarled.

Mustang just laughed as he turned to walk away. "I have no interest in spinning yarns. They will see what I do soon enough."

"He's the one who truly frightens me," Hawkeye said.

"Why?" Walberton asked.

Next to her, Havoc twisted slightly, peaking out from under the blanket. "Hmm, that one."

"He shows no emotion. No care. You can't tell if he enjoys what he does, hates it, or nothing at all."

"Looked like he enjoyed scaring the pants off the new recruits," Walberton said. "Of course, I was hearing from Norbury and Hale that he's quite merciless, doesn't leave much for clean up. All they have to do is keep him from getting shot."

Nodding, Hawkeye turned her attention back to her own campfire. She too had heard similar stories about how ruthless the Flame Alchemist was. Every patrol that went out with him came back black from ash and rattled by the cries of those who had survived long enough to burn to death in the flames. They all said he would stand there emotionlessly, calmly snapping his fingers and eradicating every living thing within a chosen area.

A shiver raced down Hawkeye's spine and she told herself it was because of the cold night air. At the edge of her hearing, she caught Kimbley telling another story but she blocked out the noise, instead, listening to the approach of footsteps.

Havoc twisted back to the fire. "So I was talking to Grimsby this morning," he started. There was no Grimsby, there never had been. It was code for change the subject quick.

"Oh, and what did he have to say?" Walberton asked with mock curiosity as the Flame Alchemist passed by.

Glancing up, Hawkeye briefly caught the Major's gaze before she shifted her look over to Havoc. Another chill raced through her as the memory of what she saw lingered. The smirk and enjoyment she had seen just minutes earlier was gone, replaced by a dead look that she could not read.

"Hey, Roy!" a voice called and the Major turned as a Lieutenant ran up to him. "I've been looking all over the place for you," the man huffed as he bent over, hands resting on his knees struggling for breath. "There's a job."

"So Grimsby was in the mess tent and…"

Hawkeye pushed Havoc's voice out of her mind as she sipped her coffee and strained to hear what the two officers were talking about.

"There's always a job," Mustang growled.

The Lieutenant straightened and adjusted his glasses. "I just deliver the messages, I don't make them up. I thought I would give you a head's up. Something big." He leaned toward the Major, his voice dropping and making it very difficult for Hawkeye to make out. Then he flashed a smile and whipped out a photograph. "Isn't my Gracia beautiful?"

"Hughes," Mustang said as he raised a gloved hand, ready to snap.

Pulling the photo away from the alchemist, Hughes shot back, "No torching the photo!"

"No, just the man holding it," came a sharp reply, punctuated by that same cocky smile Hawkeye had seen when the Major played with the campfire.

So the Flame Alchemist has a fierce temper, she thought. Her gaze focused on Havoc, but she could still see the figures at the edge of her vision.

"You're no fun," Hughes replied as he withdrew a step.

Raising her gaze slightly, she watched as the two men laughed and took on a less antagonist manner as they walked off.

Havoc dropped his fake conversation and softly asked, "So what was that about?"

"The Lieutenant saw a mission profile," Hawkeye said, trying to put the bits of information she had gleaned from the whispered conversation into a coherent thought. "A mission not like the elimination districts. Special teams. Something about an apprehension."

"Boom!" Kimbley barked as he continued on unabated with his stories.


	6. Staged Realities

Thanks, Lady of the Storm! LOL, Roy-Fan-33, I thought my long chapters was scaring people away. I don't mind the long review, sewing life, I'm just glad you are enjoying the story. Not to worry, SnufflesWillRise, here's another update. As for the rest, I'm not giving anything away.

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**Staged Realities**

The Present

Salvana's Fifth Symphony, _Revolution_, played softly in the background, nearly drowned out by voices and distant sounds of a storm. Splashes of light danced over the ornately patterned carpet of the Royal Acadium Theatre's entryway from the three grand chandeliers hanging high above. They were a reminder, that even in the East, the people could be as beautiful and refined as Central City.

The audience, who had moved from the theatre into the expansive entry still murmured and spoke appreciatively of the highly lauded performance of _The Trial of Horace_ that had been touring Amestris. Part of the crowd had already dispersed into the night but many still waited for their cars or a cab to be brought up so they would not have to walk too far in the rain that had started falling earlier in the evening.

Thunder rolled over the hall, as streaks of lightning lit the world in a purple glow beyond the tall glass doors at the front of the building. Falling rain turned the world glossy under bright marquee lights.

Watching the rain come down in torrents, Roy Mustang sighed as he approached the coat check counter. From where he stood, the chill air of the night blew in every time the crimson dressed doorman opened the door for an exiting couple. Drawing the ticket from his pocket, he slid the piece of paper across the black countertop, the crisp blue of his uniform stark against the dull surface. The girl behind the counter flushed and looked up with a dreamy gaze.

Rain pelted the glass.

He hated the rain.

As the blond reached out to take the ticket, but overreached and lightly drew her fingers over his, but he barely noticed, looking back toward the main area. While he waited, he stared down at his left hand, spreading the fingers and then drawing them into a fist. The skin color looked normal. Good, he thought, having been worried that he might lose the use of his arm due to lack of circulation. His date, Madolen, had held so tightly to his arm most of the evening, he expected it to be dead from the elbow down.

Thunder crashed overhead and while it earned startled whispers from the other theatregoers, it only seemed to depress Roy. Glancing about, he wondered if his date had climbed out the "powder room" window and was racing down the street without her coat. That would be the perfect end to the perfect date.

"Here they are, Colonel," the girl behind the counter said as she laid the black and brown coats across the dark surface.

Roy dimly noticed she was still blushing. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said, flashing her a smile. The young woman giggled like a little girl as he took his black coat and slowly pulled it on and then paused long enough to straighten out his appearance. After a moment, he took up Madolen's deep brown coat and slung it over his arm.

Looking toward the corridor his date had earlier vanished into, he was definitely beginning to suspect she ran away. Seriously, how long did it take to powder one's nose? He should ask Hawkeye about that sometime, though, he was not sure she would know. He had rarely, if ever, had seen her in make up.

Not that she needed it.

Another deep rumble charged the air of the entryway and Roy noted that the rain was coming down harder than before.

Lousy weather.

There were still plenty of couples milling about, waiting for their rides or the rain to slow. He also noted other men, mostly young, standing alone holding their significant other's coats, probably abandoned for the powder room as well.

He paced a bit, but quickly gave up, falling against one of the tall white marble columns threaded with black veins near the grand staircase that led up to the balcony seating. From there, he had a clear view of the rain visible through the translucent doors.

If Madolen was maintaining a steady pace, she could be at the train station by now, though he supposed her high heels might slow her down slightly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the poster for the play he had just sat through. He could not exactly say he had seen it, for to be honest, he shut it out of his mind half way through the first act. _The Trial of Horace_, what a terrible play, he decided. He had been told it was an excellent play with a stellar cast, perhaps though he should have bothered to find out what it was about before arriving at the theatre.

He would not have been willing to sit through it had he known.

Cuthwulf Boolle, the playwright, had spun a yarn about a young soldier named Horace who was caught up in a war beyond his understanding. He did as he was ordered and took many lives as often soldiers were expected to. The crux of the story was Horace dealing with his demons and finding healing in the arms of the girl he had long loved.

It was a poorly told fantasy and a waste of two hours of Roy's life.

He glared up at the poster and saw the face of the actor who played Horace painted in sharp lines. The caricature smiled back, even as he hugged the girl who ever so dramatically professed her love to "Horace" even after he had told her what a monster he truly was.

Thoughts of torching the poster were only stilled by female voice, "I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

He smiled, that smile that always made the young women blush, as he straightened and met Madolen's bright blue eyes framed by dark auburn hair. Gently unfurling her coat, he held it out so she could easily slip it on over her long pale green evening gown. "I don't mind," he said calmly.

As soon as she had her coat pulled tight, to shelter against the falling rain they would soon encounter, she attached herself to his left arm again. Roy winced slightly as he felt the circulation be cut off once more.

"That was such a wonderful love story," Madolen purred as she pressed into him. "I felt so sorry for poor Horace. All those terrible things he had to do."

Roy only half heard her as he led her to the doors. The doorman nodded and pushed open the door, allowing a cool burst of damp air to flood in. The air crackled with electricity as the rain rushed to the earth in a haze of white noise. Still sheltered by the marquee, Roy motioned to one of the yellow cabs that were waiting for a customer.

As the cab's engine started up and the forward lamps lit up, Madolen continued. "I mean poor guy, but it's good that he could find comfort in the arms of the girl he loved. A great war hero—"

"It was entirely unrealistic," Roy said matter-of-factly.

Madolen looked at him with surprise.

He stared straight out into the night, seeing only the distant streets and far off lights of a residential district. "He would never touch the woman he loved with such bloodstained hands. No amount of oaths of love on her part can wash away the demons or absolve him of the innocent lives he took. Many people died because of him and there is nothing that can change that or ease the pain."

The grip around his arm had loosened just before the cab pulled close and Madolen was moving toward it, eager, perhaps, to escape him. A screech of tires and brakes drew Roy's attention, his hand automatically reaching into the pocket where his gloves were securely stored. A dark car cut off the cab, almost jumping the curb before it came to an abrupt stop.

"Hey, you maniac!" the cab driver bellowed as he stuck an arm out the window, waving a rude gesture toward the other driver. The moment the other car's driver door opened, the man went silent as the military blues of Lt. Hawkeye stepped out.

Roy frowned and nodded slightly to the Lieutenant, then escorted Madolen, who stared at Hawkeye, to the cab. He opened the door and helped her get in, then handed the driver some cash. "Take her home, please."

"Yes, sir," came the quick, obedient reply of the driver.

Madolen just looked at Roy, but he knew there would not be a second date. Not that he was too broken up by it; there was that seamstress down the street from Eastern HQ that had been eyeing him. Her name was Eugenie or something.

Once the cab pulled away, he turned to look at Hawkeye who was standing by the car in her quiet, professional manner, waiting. Approaching, he said, "I don't know whether to be annoyed trouble has come up or whether I should thank you for bringing my date to an early end."

Hawkeye opened the back door. "I would not have figured you a fan of _Horace_."

Growling, he huffed, "No more plays, ever. Dinner, drinks, a little evening entertainment, but no more plays." Once he was in the car, the door was slammed shut, violently rocking the entire vehicle. "Spare the car," he snapped as Hawkeye got into the drivers seat.

"Yes, sir," she curtly replied.

He sighed. Folding his arms across his chest, he sank back into the seat, watching the rain splatter against the windshield as Hawkeye pulled away from the theatre. "So what was so important you had to disrupt my evening?"

"A patrol has gone missing in the Savon District."


	7. Falling Rain

LOL, sewing life, you're not the only one who mistakes royal with _royai _sometimes. Another quick update? Sure, roy-fan-33, I'm trying to update three times a week. You have no idea how interesting things are about to get...

Thank you for the feedback, it is very much appreciated. If you are reading and enjoying the story, I would love to hear from you.

* * *

**Falling Rain**

Chilled droplets plunged from the night sky above, pelting everything unfortunate enough to be in the path. Puddles had turned to pools as the rain continued the onslaught on East City. For some, the rain washed away the old and the bad that had collected, but for others, the rain was merely an irritation, something that had to be, but was not loved.

Rain could be dangerous, turning into floods, it could be cruel, ruining a picnic and it could be a pain, making hard jobs even more difficult.

For Roy, the rain served another spirit dampening purpose, that it made his flame alchemy all but useless in the lousy weather.

Heavy black boots splashed through the puddles as Roy marched toward the second cordoned area of the evening. His coat offered little shelter as the cold rain soaked into the cloth, his hair and darkened the front and neckline of his uniform.

Two soldiers, their blue uniforms dark from the rain guarded the entrance to a narrow alleyway. The straightened slightly as he approached but he offered them barely a glance. He did not have to enter the alley to know he would not like what was waiting for him.

He had already visited the other crime scene where two security officers had been viciously beaten to death. It looked as if a riotous mob had attacked them.

What fate, he wondered, befell the one who had fled the attack?

The wind howled as gusts blew between the buildings, rattling awnings and the men standing guard. It buffeted against him, as if trying to knock him into a muddy puddle or keep him from seeing what had happened to the third officer.

A part of Roy did not blame the wind's efforts. This was a part of the job he did not enjoy.

Thunder rumbled low and menacing overhead as he approached the two men who quickly snapped to attention. Brushing off the formality, he entered into the poorly lit alley.

Ahead stood a man with a lantern, casting just enough light for him to navigate over the trash and debris strewn across the floor.

The rain would wash the evidence away, he growled to himself, if there was any. Where the other soldiers had met their fates there was little to go on. Tracks lost in the rain and the few eyewitnesses said the attackers seemed to just fade into the shadows. Such whispers only promoted fear among the men.

And fear was the enemy.

No matter how much rain fell, it could not take away the smell of death. Blood, fear, and agony all seemed to mix together into a poisonous miasma that lingered in the alleyway.

A single lantern lit the scene, giving a strange life to the shards of glass that jutted from the stone floor. Orange and yellow flickered about, mingling with the thick flow of blood from the body, pierced dozens of times, and held just off the ground.

"Sir!" a private snapped jerking to attention as he saluted when Roy pushed passed him. In the lantern light, Roy's shadow danced like a demon against the high brick walls.

The three men had been on patrol, checking some disturbances near one of the army's storage facilities but they never returned. Though the East was still riddled with violence, such things were unheard of in East City, Roy's backyard. Nor would he stand idly by because of it.

He would find out what happened.

There was something in the air, something foul and dark.

Snatching the lantern from the young soldier who kept a distance from the heart of the scene, Roy approached. Kneeling, he held the light close, examining the ground where the shards had erupted. They had been formed from the contents found in the alley floor. Searching his memories, he tried to remember ever reading or hearing about a glass alchemist.

All he could think of was the Spinning Glass Alchemist but that man's creations were considered to be works of art. He was also a scientist dedicated to creating safer forms of glass. He would also be an elderly man living in the west.

These shards possessed jagged edges, sharp and angry, designed to pierce and maim.

To kill.

Narrowing his gaze, he studied the various wounds the officer had suffered, the rain and blood making the black uniform glossy, reflecting the lantern light. Just a boy, he thought.

"Why this fate?" he wondered out loud.

The dead man's pale hand stretched up to the sky as if imploring the rain to stop falling. Water splattered against the exposed palm, flowing down and mixing with the blood from dozens of deep cuts. The wounds were not immediately fatal. He had been left to suffer while he bled out.

Standing up, Roy met the wide, horror filled eyes of the young man. At first he looked away, not wanting to face the damning glare but then turned back. A gentle brush of fingertips over cool, wet skin closed the man's eyes for the last time.

"We humans can be despicable creatures."

Roy offered a bitter grin as he turned to greet the source of the familiar voice. "I was thinking the same thing, except about alchemists."

Maes Hughes leaned up against the brick wall. He was without a coat and his uniform dark from the rain. Shrugging, he said, "We're all human and it doesn't take alchemy to do terrible things."

Looking back at the dead officer, Roy said, "That does."

Pushing off from the wall, Maes approached. The even look he offered was more than enough for Roy to know something bigger was up. He stepped close to his friend. Maes frowned. "I was hoping to get here first to warn you."

"You knew about this?" Roy growled.

"Let's just say I don't go traveling the southern and eastern regions for my health. I'm on strict orders from General Hakuro to investigate similar killings to the south. There was also a killing two weeks ago in Gyali just like this."

"What?"

"All of them have been random, as far as we can tell, save at least one person killed during each attack had served during Ishbal." Maes closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. "We didn't know what to make of it until the killings in Gyali."

"That's just an outpost."

"One under the command of the former Lt. Colonel Soham."

That name sent a chill through Roy. "Former?"

Nodding toward the dead officer, Maes said, "Dead just like that plus one of the men on patrol with him. What the locals called a group of armed men beat four others to death but the witnesses refused to offer any other detail. Seems they aren't too broken up by the deaths. One soldier survived it. Said there were a dozen Ishbalan men with crude weapons and tattooed faces like the Hareti. We're almost positive Hirada was among them."

"He's dead."

The light flickered as the lantern shook from an unsteady hand. Maes pulled the lantern from Roy's fierce grip, nearly dumping it in the rain when it was not immediately released.

"This is why I didn't tell you over the phone," the Lt. Colonel said sharply.

"Odessa Rhodes is alive," Roy whispered as he retreated a step. "She couldn't be."

"You and ten of your people survived Medes. Soham survived somehow."

"I killed them—"

"There were hundreds of burned and crushed bodies, not including what may have been incinerated when the weapon storehouse obliterated the temple. No one knew for sure. They just assumed Rhodes and Hirada had died with his followers. It's been years, Roy, with no sign of them. Everyone just thought—"

Standing with his hands clenched to his sides, Roy closed his eyes but all he saw was Medes.

After the initial explosions, it was easy. There were flames everywhere; he just had to feed them. And that red stone, that damned, cursed red stone made it all so simple, extending his alchemic reach so much further than he had ever imagined.

It was almost intoxicating as he threaded the flames through all the buildings, setting them ablaze. Listening distantly to the agonized cries of the burning as the buildings erupted around the rebels.

The flames were hungry, feeding on Medes without his help. All he could do was stand back as they licked at the sky and reached for the ancient temple. A woman and a small child raced from the doomed building.

Then more.

Dozens of women and children whom had sought refuge in the temple, raced down the steps as the ravenous flames claimed it.

They would not get very far.

"Roy?"

Hughes had a strangely worried look. It did not suit him, Roy thought as he blinked into the glare of the lantern that was held close to his face.

Pressing a hand to Roy's shoulder, Maes looked him right in the eye. "This isn't Scar, Roy. She's not after every State Alchemist that comes along. She's pissed and she wants a special kind of revenge and she's got Hirada helping her. I'm not just speaking as an investigator here, I'm speaking as your friend—"

"She will kill anyone who gets in her way." He could read the concern in Maes' eyes. Why endanger others if all Rhodes and Hirada wanted was him?

"Roy," came his friend's soft reproach.


	8. Of Love

Thanks, Shadow Dreamer 27, I'm glad you are enjoying it. Thank you so much, SnufflesWillRise! Trust me, what you said didn't sound dumb, I'm very conscious of sensory imagery and think it tells as much of the story and paint a mood as dialogue and action does.

I truly appreciate the responses. :)

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**Of Love**

Over the din of the busy marketplace was an incoherent string of grunts and curses that trailed the older of the Elric brothers as he stormed down the street. At the disconcerting sight, people jumped out of the blond haired youth's way as his red coat fluttered out like wings.

Far less distress lit the eyes of many market goers when they saw the tall, armored body of Alphonse clattering as he quickly walked a short distance behind. "Brother, wait up!" he called.

Ed just growled. "Call me a pipsqueak…I'll show him…I'll—"

"He didn't call you a pipsqueak."

Spinning sharply about, his teeth gnashing as he stood there tensely glaring at his younger sibling. Then throwing his arms up in the air, he launched into a bad impression of Colonel Mustang. "You know you should stand up so I can see you—"

"Brother," Al said, feeling rather exasperated. The Colonel would continue to do that as long as Ed reacted. Why could Ed not just be calm?

Ed kept grumbling as the younger, but very much larger, sibling approached and laid a big metal and leather formed hand on Ed's blond head. He evenly announced, "You are short."

Fire lit Ed's eyes. "You're just tall."

Al laughed. "That's not my fault." Then more seriously, he added, "You shouldn't let him get to you." Even as he spoke the words, he knew, as always, they would go unheeded.

Heavily sighing, Ed waved dismissively at the thought and then perked up. Raising his face to the slight breeze, he sniffed the air. A bright smile spread across his face as if the fury of moments earlier had never happened. "Hurry up, I want to beat the rush."

"The rush for what?"

"The noodle stand."

"But wouldn't it have been easier to eat at the mess hall?"

"With all those stuffy military people?"

"I don't think MSG Fury or Lt. Breda are stuffy. They are pretty nice and they did invite us to join them." Al inwardly frowned as Ed's pace did not slow. He tried calling out, but once Ed was determined there was little stopping him.

The breeze picked up slightly and Al paused as canopies rippled and scarves blew about. Shoppers paused to hold onto the goods until the gust passed. Though he could not enjoy the feel of the wind against his skin and did not quite remember it, the air rushing through gaps in his armor stirred something in him. He twisted in the middle of the market, catching sight of curious eyes as locals of East City looked at him but he had been to the market many times, so they often did not pay him too much attention. Some through paused to smile and wave.

There was something in the air. Something unnatural. It reminded him of the energy that charged the air the night they tried to bring their mother back. And though he knew it to be impossible, he felt chill.

The hollow echo of his feet thudded against the pavement as he raced through the busy street toward the noodle stand nestled between two fresh fruit peddlers. Spying Ed's red coat, he sighed in relief as he joined his brother.

"Where've you been?" Ed asked as he lazily he sipped an orange drink through a straw.

Past Ed sat a quiet figure wrapped in a deep green shawl drinking a cup of coffee. She paid them no attention.

"I was just…I was looking at something," he said as he sat down on a small stool that looked as if it would barely support his weight. He was about to say more to Ed but stopped when he noticed his brother's golden gaze following movement behind the stand. "Oh," he whispered.

It was Nara, the young woman who helped her father with the noodle stand. Al knew she was sweet on Ed. She was tall and always smiling and even Al had to admit, easy on the eyes. Everything seemed to shimmer when she looked at them.

"Ed!" She happily called from the back.

Ed straightened. "Hello, Nara," he said with a smile and a blush.

Yup, thought Al, he was smitten by her, even if she was older. Though, he admitted he was too.

"Al!" she said in that always cheerful tone as she leaned against the counter and looked at the two boys. "I see you still like wearing that suit."

"Um, yeah," Al said feeling rather embarrassed.

"Al!" came another, little, voice from behind the counter and a small hand gripped the edge.

Nara met Ed's gaze with those sparkly eyes. He glanced away, quite red cheeked. Kneeling down, she picked up her three-year-old daughter, Emma. The little girl clutched her mother's neck. She looked like a tiny version of Nara, with the same big brown eyes and dark auburn hair.

"Hello, Emma," Al said, waving at the little girl.

"Metal man!" she cheered.

Nara pressed against the counter and held her hand out toward the brothers revealing a ring on her finger. "Look!" she said excitedly.

"Those boy's don't care," her father teased from the cook stove.

"Pretty," Emma cooed as she reached for the ring.

Ed looked at her hand and blinked a few times.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" she asked. "Stuart asked me to marry him."

Al instinctively reached out and grabbed Ed by the jacket to keep his stunned brother from falling off the chair. "Congratulations!" he said in his tinny voice.

"Yeah, congratulations," Ed said, adding on a wide grin.

And though Al did not think Nara noticed, he did. He caught the heartbreak in Ed's voice.

The truth was, Al was glad for Nara and Emma. They deserved to be happy. Nara's first husband was a soldier and had been killed just before Emma was born. He felt sad for the little girl, never knowing her father. Stuart, he had seen a few times at the noodle stand and around Eastern HQ, for he was a soldier as well, but he seemed like a nice guy.

"Leave those boys alone and serve them their food," Nara's father called from the shadows of the kitchen area. "Come on, Emma, come back here and play so your mother can do her job."

"Yes!" the little girl squealed as her mother set her feet firmly on the ground and she ran excitedly back to where her grandfather was.

The wind blew, sending dust stirring through the air. The flames of the cook stove brightened as the wind pulled burning embers from the open fire. They glowed and turned to ash, blowing across the bar, dancing like devils before the two brothers.

"She is young," a woman said from the far end of the counter. "I pray she knows only happiness with this man who has stolen her heart."

Ed laughed. "Our mother, after our father left, used to say it wasn't love if it didn't hurt."

"The words of a woman scorned." The wind blew the green shawl that ensconced the woman's face back revealing her long silver streaked hair and sad features. She set her hot tea down and smiled but never looked in the brothers' direction.

Al could see the palm of her left hand and spied several transmutation circles painted on her flesh. From the fragments he saw, he could not make out their purpose.

"Yes, your mother is correct. True love hurts and losing it, for whatever reason is an unbearable pain. Having it taken away from you, having the life of your loved one slip away in your arms is agony." She watched little Emma happily playing with a doll at the back of the sheltered building. "I doubt though, that it can be any more painful than that of loosing a child."

For a moment, Al thought of Winry and how she said it was different that her parents were dead and never coming back while their father had just run away. Winry seemed to hurt more because of it.

When their mother died, he understood that pain.

"We can sort of understand," Ed said quietly.

"Yes, I suspect you can."

Al was about to ask what she meant when he heard the loud footsteps of someone quickly approaching.

A young, black uniformed officer stopped before the stand and saluted to Ed. "Major Elric, sir!"

Ed grimaced as he turned. "Yes?"

"Colonel Mustang orders—"

"A dog of the State?" the woman at the counter snarled. Her distant, sad demeanor changed instantly as fierce eyes glared at the brothers. "They send children after me?"

In a flash the ground exploded as Ed responded with blinding fast speed to the woman's unprovoked attack. Beneath him, the street hardened into a wave of metal, protecting against the spears of glass that shot up tearing through the earth and wooden counter. The sheer force of the attack sent him flying back and slamming into Al who turned quickly, his metal body shielding his brother from the follow up attack.

"Wait!" Al called as Ed squirmed loose only to find the woman fleeing through the street.

"Get help!" Ed barked at the startled officer before he raced off after her.

"Brother!" Al called as he got to his feet and chased after the two.


	9. A Race Through Dark Places

Sorry about the long space of not posting. Short of laziness I'll be posting every other day. If anyone is still reading, thanks for your patience.

**Lady of the Storm **– Thanks! **Shadow Dreamer 27** – You have no idea! Things are about to start moving very fast. **SnufflesWillRise** – Whoops! Thanks for pointing that out. You're the first one to catch it, or at least tell me so. :p **Roy-Fan-33 **– I'm sure Ed will get over it.

Oh, and if I haven't said this before, I'm basing this more on the series with little touches from the manga. Since the manga is ongoing and changing my perceptions of the characters with each new chapter, it was just easier to stick to the anime, that and I had already written the first draft and worked the plot out before 57 and 58 came out.

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**A Race Through Dark Places**

"I am not one of Mustang's toadies!" Ed yelled, his voice breaking from the ferocity of it. He was not some leashed dog at Mustang's beck and call.

_No way._

Weaving through the multitude of bodies as he tried to keep the insane woman in view, he bound left, then right, and over an apple cart. From behind, he could hear the angry cry of a vendor and Al apologizing but he refused to slow down. That woman, her tattoos and the suddenness of the attack all set him on edge.

There was something about her.

_They send children after me?_

"Hey!" Ed called out but she did not stop.

His quarry vanished into a crowd of women and children, causing Ed to search wildly about, trying to look over their heads but he was at a severe height disadvantage. "Damn, where is she?"

Spying movement out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her green shawl as she raced along the side of the street toward a massive construction area. Taking off after her, he saw her vanish around a corner.

"Ha!" He could stop her at the stone footbridge, she could not escape short of jumping off into the river below and that would be suicide.

Luckily, there were few people coming or going from the bridge, as the distant temple n the other side of the waterway no longer served the community. Clapping his hands together, Ed then dropped down. A wall, a dozen paces onto the gently arching bridge shot up sealing off people heading his direction and giving others a chance to flee.

The hollow echo of Al's approach behind Ed rivaled the sound of the quick moving river rushing against the high canal walls that directed the flow through the city.

Panic lit the woman's eyes as she twisted about, searching for another escape but the tall buildings and the river pinned her in. She fell back against the wall Ed had created, even as her eyes med Ed's.

"I won't let you interfere," she hissed taking on the look of a cornered dog. "Just one more death." The glow of an alchemic reaction danced across the ground as she pressed her palms to it. Shards, like weeds, erupted from the hard packed ground, tearing a path toward Ed.

He moved to react but Al was faster, his large body acting as a shield and took the brunt of the attack. Glass and metal clattered as shard snapped against the unforgiving surface and fell harmlessly to the ground.

Still frozen in his protective posture, the younger Elric called out, "We mean you no harm!"

"She attacked us!" Ed snapped.

Reforming the shards that stuck up in a jagged formation into a wall, she made it rise high on a fragile base that easily collapsed under the weight, sending the translucent monolith tumbling toward the two brothers.

Ed responded instantly.

Shards became flower petals that floated harmlessly to the ground, covering the dusty brown in a shade of soft pink.

"Please stop!" Al begged her.

Undeterred, the woman created a single, fluid tendril that shot out. The sharp point pierced one of the eye openings of Al's helmet. A terrified scream tore through the still afternoon as the helmet was sent flying.

It hit the ground with a bang and rolled downhill toward the drop off into the fast moving river.

The ground changed, curving up moments before the helmet flew into the water.

"Get your head," Ed said as he pushed himself back to his feet and raced toward their adversary. "What are you running from?"

Triggering another glass spear, she watched in shock as Ed countered by clapping his hands together and his right arm morphed into a shield, tearing apart the sleeves of his clothing. The glass tendril snapped apart against the smooth surface.

"You're going to have to try harder than that," Ed said with a smile.

"No transmutation circle?" Her dark gaze shifted toward the headless armor collecting the helmet by the rivers edge. A thin smile formed across her thin features. "I understand now. You trespassed on sacred ground." Her smile widened. "Even I am not so mad."

Narrowing his gaze, Ed looked her over carefully. On the surface, she was unremarkable, little different than the women he had seen in every city and town between Central City and Risembool. Surveying the jagged sea that covered the ground between them, he knew quite well she was not ordinary. "Why would the military be after you?"

"You don't even know why you are chasing me, dog?" she spat.

Ed darkened. "You attacked us."

"Who did you try to bring back?"

Surprise made Ed withdraw slightly. It was like she was not looking at him, but rather through him.

Slowly, she brought her hands up so he could see the various transmutation circles imprinted on her palms and fingers. The elder Elric immediately recognized the two larger ones as the source of her alchemic glass and control of it but the ones on her fingers. Only fragments of the circles remained in his mind after she withdrew the view.

"Healing arrays?" he asked.

"I understand exactly what you are. A soul bound to armor and a body missing parts of itself." She looked the blond haired youth over carefully. "The question is, did you do it yourself or did you use the Stone of the Sages?"

With her words, Ed brightened. "You know of the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Only suffering and death surrounds it," she said absently, shifting her gaze to watch Al put his head back on.

Hungry for whatever knowledge this woman possessed, Ed stepped closer. "If you know anything about it, tell us."

The fear that had encircled her only moments earlier seemed to melt away as she met Ed's gaze. "For what purpose do you seek it?"

"To get our bodies back."

"The military will take it away from you before you can use it."

"The hell they will," Ed growled.

"You are just a pawn to them, a tool that the military will trample over once you acquire what they want. It is a weapon to them, more powerful than a vast array of soldiers." Cruel laughter.

"You have no concept of what a spirit crushing machine the State is. It destroyed alchemists like Marcoh and I and turned others into soulless killers with no hope for redemption."

"Marcoh?" The fires of hope were stoked. "You know Tim Marcoh?"

Reaching behind her, the artificially created wall was altered, becoming glass that was melted away, flowing like liquid over the edge of the footbridge into the river below.

"I'm not finished!" Ed yelled as he raced toward her.

Without hesitation, she turned, grabbing her shawl as she moved, pulling it free. With a quick motion, she whipped it out toward the approaching youth.

Soft threads turned into spun glass, shattering against Ed's automail arm. He had only a fraction of a second to close his eyes. Protecting them. Tiny shards, like ice in a winter storm, pelted him, ripping through his red coat, tearing into his skin and leaving stinging cuts. He screamed and broke off the attack as he shook off the altered shawl.

"You are a very talented alchemist," she said. "Throw away your bindings to the State before they break you."

"Wait!" Ed called, blinking through tear-rimmed eyes.

"You are not responsible for what happened during the rebellion. You were too young to be involved and therefore, for now, you are not my enemy.

"But I can't let you follow me." She dropped to the ground, her palms pressing against the hardened surface.

"Brother!" Al screamed as shards shot up from the ground and slammed into him. Though they could not penetrate the metal, they could knock the boy back. "Ed!" came another terrified cry as he was sent toppling over the edge and down the stone slope toward the river below.

"Al!" Before the word had even left Ed's mouth, he was in motion. His hands pressing to the ground willing the stone embankment below to be transformed, bending it to his will and catching Al before he landed in the water.

Racing over the glass covered ground, he threw himself down at the edge overlooking the river. Shallow breaths and his thundering heart reflected the terror that had gripped him at the thought of losing Al.

Below, the younger lay cradled in giant hands that reached out from the stone wall. The water flowed by just a hand width below the hulking, armored form.

"Thanks," Al called up, his voice trembling.

"I couldn't…the blood seal," was all Ed managed. He just sat there, his weight balanced on his arms, staring over the edge where Al lay. Blood beaded and trickled down his flesh arm from the crisscrossing of dozens of skin-deep cuts. It dripped from stinging wounds on his cheeks and around his eyes. His neck burned from the sweat mixing with the cuts. None of that mattered as long as Al was safe.

Rocking back on his knees he glanced about but the woman was gone.


	10. Shadow Dancing

**Roy-Fan-33** - Yikes, hope you're okay!

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**Shadow Dancing**

At the center of intense scrutiny was not a place Edward Elric enjoyed finding himself. Shifting uncomfortably on the leather upholstery, his unflinching gaze remained firmly fixed on the black rectangular pattern in the large rug that covered the floor between the two seats in Roy Mustang's office.

The still air of the room left him feeling cold even though a warm blanket had earlier been draped over his shoulders. It was not a physical feeling, but rather a fear deep inside that he could not so easily shake. Though he was grateful for the brown covering, it his torn sleeves that exposed his automail arm and the bandages that covered wounds on his left. Lt. Col. Hughes had insisted he get the cuts checked and treated.

Above his right brow, a gash and a bandaged made it feel as if something was pressing into his brain. He reached up with his left hand, wincing slightly as he touched the gauze. The rest of his facial wounds were razor thin lines left to heal in the air. Most were shallow and would be gone in a day or two but every time a muscle twitched it made his face hurt.

It took a while before he worked the courage up to raise his eyes to those who silently watched him. Al was sitting next to him and across the way on the other chair was Fury and Breda with Falman leaning on an arm and Havoc standing behind.

He hated that they all looked concerned, but no one said anything.

Lt. Hawkeye approached and handed him a glass of water. At first he wanted to decline the offer, but then took it, grateful for something to focus on. "Thanks."

"Just relax," she said kindly before straightening. She offered Al a smile and then took her place to Mustang's right.

The youth shifted his gaze to the other corner of the desk that crowned the office. Hughes was leaning against the edge, his arms folded across his chest, his head down, but it was clear he was carefully watching. Nor did he try to hide any of his concern. He was clearly worried.

Ed was decidedly starting to feel uneasy. Sure, he had stepped in it, running after someone with no real authority or better yet, no real idea why. He had just reacted. "She attacked us first," he announced.

Feeling the gleam of his old self, he turned his attention to the Colonel who was sitting behind the desk in fierce silence. His white gloves—fingers entwined—were stark against the blue backdrop of his uniform. His obsidian gaze revealed little emotion.

The look stung Ed like shards of glass.

And it only made him angrier.

After a sip of the cool water, Ed set the glass down on the table between the two settees. "Her palms and the pads of her fingers were covered in tattooed arrays. She seemed more interested in her tea than anything else."

"I thought she was sad," Al quietly added.

Ed nodded slightly. "She talked about losing loved ones but nothing seemed too far out of the ordinary until the officer arrived searching for me." That was what had set her off, he silently thought. Everything was fine until he was addressed as _Major Elric_.

"What were you doing blindly chasing after her like that?" Mustang demanded.

"She attacked us!" Ed barked back just in case the Colonel did not hear him the first time.

Hughes sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up slightly as he did so. "For someone in her position, she's quite fearless."

"Or insane," Mustang said.

"That too."

Out of the silence that seemed to sweep through the room, Havoc spoke up. "Shouldn't we be out searching for this crazy glass alchemist? Especially if she's the one who killed that patrolman in the Savon District last night."

Fury perked up slightly. "She attacked Ed and Al for no reason. We can't just let her get away."

"She won't be escaping," the Colonel replied. "That's not her intent."

"How do you know this, sir?" Hawkeye asked.

Maes Hughes twisted and looked over his shoulder at the Lieutenant. He could see it in her dark amber eyes the concern. Actually, he could feel it all around. Everyone knew something was up, something bad. And Roy was being his thickheaded self.

A few more moments passed and still Roy said nothing. Sighing, Maes stood up and met Ed's steady gaze. Ed's pride had been wounded, but more than that, he could see the lingering fear. He had come close to losing Al.

_Say something!_

Taking the burden upon himself, Maes began. "She is not a glass alchemist. Well, no, that's not right. She's obviously skilled but she was not previously known for that."

Al shifted in his seat. "She knew Dr. Marcoh, did she run away too?"

"She betrayed the State and the military to the enemy."

Hawkeye let out an uncharacteristic gasp.

Laughter, shaky and uncertain came from behind the settee where Havoc stood. He smiled but it did not reach his eyes. "You all had me scared for a moment. Great joke. I thought for sure you were going to say Odessa Rhodes has come back from hell dragging an army of dead Ishbalan Hareti with her." He looked to Hughes and then to Roy. "Right?"

To Maes' growing frustration, Roy remained quiet.

"Right?" The smile faded.

"You knew all about her?" Ed asked as he pushed off the blanket and stood up. His natural arm was bandaged in a few places, the white bright against his black clothing. "You knew?" An aura of anger surrounded him as he glared at Mustang.

The unlit cigarette fell from Havoc's mouth as he paled. "But they all died at Medes." He reached up and rubbed his shoulder. "No one could have survived that hell." He turned, looking pleadingly at Roy.

Ed clenched his hands into fists. "She knew what we were. She knew what we had done. She said she knew about the Philosopher's Stone. She mentioned Marcoh. That has to mean something."

A smile, casual but not entirely sincere, Maes thought, lit Roy's face. He had seen it often in the past, during the days of the rebellion. He had seen the change before and knew what few others did. He saw the devil that hid under the brash, arrogant façade, the thing that took the place of the man when duty demanded it.

"Is it so hard to believe that she heard that name before?" Roy asked calmly. "She did serve during the rebellion at Ishbal, the same time Marcoh did. They probably crossed paths." Then, matter-of-factly, "She was once known as the Healing Touch Alchemist and working in the hospital treating soldiers wounded in action."

"No," Ed said firmly. "She knows something and I'm going to find out what it is."

Roy drew a gloved finger over the dark, lacquered surface of his desk, and then slowly raised his hand, pressing his fingers together as if to snap. "No."

"If she has information—"

Instantly, Roy was on his feet. His chair toppled over behind him as he slammed his hands down on the desk. He spoke with a sharp air of authority, "Stay away from her. Do you understand?"

Ed narrowed his gaze.

"Brother?" Al whispered softly.

"Who are you to stop me?" the youth challenged.

"I am your commanding officer. If you cannot obey orders, you will be confined until further notice."

Maes fought the urge to slap his friend upside the head and yell at him for acting stupid again. He knew Roy meant well and all, but this was not how to tame Ed when he was equally determined.

_They're just alike, stubborn to a fault._

Ed reached to his side and pulled the silver pocket watch, the symbol of his rank as a State Alchemist from his pocket and held it up for all to see. "Then I quit."

"Brother," Al whispered, reaching out to Ed. "Please don't—"

"I'm tired of secrets being kept from me. She knows something and I'm going to find out what. Come on Al." He threw the watch down on the table between the two chairs and then turned and started for the door.

"So that's how it is?" Roy asked. "You don't like the rules so you're just going to quit until you get what you want and then come crawling back when you need the military's resources again?"

Ed stopped at the door and looked at Al who remained sitting. "Al?"

Slowly, the younger got up and moved toward the door.

"Not this time," came the Colonel's dark tone. "Chief Warrant Officer Falman. Take the Elric brothers into custody."

"Sir?" Falman asked as he jumped to his feet. All around, the others stirred uneasily.

"Arrest them for interfering with a State investigation."

"I haven't done anything yet!" Ed roared.

Maes raised his hand slightly, and was pleased to see Ed glance his way. He prayed the youth would hear him out and remain calm. "Settle down, Ed."

A soft crack drew everyone's attention. Havoc was leaning against the wall and it seemed only to be barely supporting him as he gripped his shoulder. He looked to Roy. "She wants revenge, right, Chief?"

"She has shown no interest in the soldiers who survived Medes," Maes said. "She has either herself or with the help of Hirada and his men—"

"Wait a minute," Hawkeye interrupted. "Hirada is alive?"

Maes adjusted his glasses. "Eye witness accounts leave us to believe he is." For the first time in memory, he thought he saw fear in the woman's eyes. He sighed. "Anyone who interferes with her quest seems to have been killed. Soham's patrol. The information office they raided. They were only interested in the files of Lt. Col. Soham and—"

"All of his men were killed at Medes," Havoc interrupted.

"What about that patrol last night?" Fury asked. "They were just security officers."

"Probably happened upon their hiding place," Roy answered.

Al turned and looked back. "She said she would not let us interfere. There was one more death, but I don't know what she meant by that."

"I think you two were very lucky," Breda said. He nodded toward Al. "She knew Ed would rescue you. She probably could have killed you both, or at least done a lot more damage. She was pulling her punches."

"Exactly," Roy said as he pressed his hands to the desk and leaned heavily against it. "Everyone, stay out of her way. Don't interfere with her. Take no unnecessary risks. I will not have my people harmed in the course of her revenge."


	11. Human Artillary

**Roy-Fan-33** - I am glad you are enjoying the story and thank you so much for your kind replies.

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**Human Artillery**

The Past

Medes was just as Havoc had imagined it: dry, desolate and destroyed. The army had done its job well several years earlier when it swept through and eradicated the village north of Ishbal. The few structures that still stood near the town square were crumbling ruins. At best, the buildings might have provided a bit of shelter from the wind and sun, but little else.

It was beyond him how anyone could still be living there. Hell, he lived in the midst of a major military camp, all the basics provided and he thought that was barely adequate.

From his perch on the back of the troop truck, he had a clear view of most of the heart of the city. His hopes were that intelligence reports were wrong, that there was no one there. There could not be. It looked abandoned. His instincts, on the other hand, told him differently.

Hot, dusty air blew through the rubble-strewn streets. There was no moisture in it and all it made him want to do was cough. Gods how he missed rain.

Well, this Dr. Rhodes was not going to just turn herself in, he thought. Callused fingers pressed to the hot metal frame as he pushed himself up. The unforgiving sun beat down as he shaded his eyes, briefly scanning the area.

Half a block ahead, ducked in the shadows he spied Major Soham and his squadron. Just the thought of that arrogant officer made him want to kick something. The whole damned ride to this forsaken place that jerk bellowed and carried on about the glory of capturing a doctor who went crazy and joined the Ishbalans.

Didn't the military have bigger priorities than wondering where one healer went?

Taking up his rifle, he stepped off the back of the truck, landing on a soft, sandy floor. He silently bet that in a few years the desert would reclaim this place and all their struggles would be forgotten.

A quick glance around allowed him to briefly study the faces of the men who made up the second squad. He had seen most of the men about the base camp, but knew little about them in combat. They were like him. Handpicked by the higher ups for this mission. He still did not get the importance placed on a simple apprehension.

Luckily, whoever picked the shooters knew what they were doing. A smile tugged at his chapped lips when he spied Walberton and Hawkeye in the shade of one of the crumbing buildings.

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Havoc fished a cigarette out of his pocket and worked his way over the uneven ground to where they sat. "We're hardly going to surprise them. I mean, hell, they'd have to be blind not to see the dust cloud we stirred up on the way here." Stepping into the shaded pool, he looked at his comrades. Both were alert, searching the stone-faced structures rising over the debris that filled the street. "You two are making me nervous," he said softly.

Some of the young men in the squad were rather green and he figured the less to make them jumpy or worse trigger happy, the better so he kept his voice low.

"We are being watched," Hawkeye replied.

"Woman's intuition?" Walberton teased.

"That's good enough for me." Havoc quickly readied his rifle. He strained slightly to see over a section of collapsed wall to where Soham's men waited. "That idiot has his men out in the open." If he tried, he could almost hear Soham barking orders. The man had no clue how to lead or deal with combat. These Ishbal were not just going to throw their hands up in surrender at the sight of blue uniformed soldiers. These people hated the State, believed them to be invaders who defy God's law and would do what was necessary to protect themselves and their beliefs from being washed away by the Amestris military machine marching over them. Hell, to add insult to injury, they were even being destroyed by the kind of people they hated and feared the most, the alchemists.

Speaking of alchemists, he wondered where their illustrious leader, the Flame Alchemist, was. From what he had seen so far that day, he was not sure what to make of him. He hardly fit the character from the night before or half the stories told about him. During the journey to Medes, Soham had barked power mad oaths to his men, determined that this apprehension mission would rocket him up through the ranks, Major Mustang sat there, arms folded across his chest, staring blankly off in the distance.

"What are we going to do," Walberton growled, "just sit here and let Soham's men take all the glory for the capture?"

"Suits me just fine," Havoc said as dug out his lighter and lit up his cigarette. He was always at his best with a smoke. "Heroes are always the first to get shot."

Aye, came the round of affirmatives from those who had already seen their fair share of action. They moved about, taking up safe stations as they searched their surroundings for any sign of trouble.

A flash caught Havoc's eye.

"Eleven o'clock, Hawkeye."

"Got it."

The blond haired woman shifted to a kneeling position and took aim while Havoc searched the tops of the buildings for signs of more snipers. A single shot rang out and then there was silence.

"Maybe you should have waited," Walberton said. "I think he was going to shoot Soham."

Hawkeye said nothing as she prepared for another shot.

"Oh, now you tell us," Havoc teased.

Silence drifted over the men, over everything, as the echo of that single shot still seemed to reverberate. Nothing happened.

"Don't forget," one of the men toward the back warned. "These people are Hareti. They're not like regular Ishbalan. They'll break all their religious laws to take us out."

"Great," Havoc said. Bringing up his rifle, he looked through the scope, searching the rooftops, window openings and holes in the building façades for any sign of trouble.

He tightened the trigger, sliding his view along several busted out windows.

At the first hint of movement, he squeezed.

A single shot shattered the silence.

"Time to move," Walberton said. "Hawkeye go left. Havoc right."

"Sure thing, boss." Havoc answered with a smile. "Where's our Major at?" he asked as he got ready to move.

"Over there."

Havoc followed Walberton's line of sight and found the blue uniformed officer deep in the shadows, leaning against a wall. He seemed to be completely focused on Soham.

Crouching low, he raced across the street, dodging large chunks of stone that blocked the path. Ducking into the shadows where the Major stood, he readied his rifle and took a quick survey of the opposite buildings.

"Standing there like that you might as well be in front of a firing squad," he said through clenched teeth. Raising his rifle and peering through the scope again, he searched for hostiles. "I don't know about you, but I want to live. If you get shot, then the higher ups will put us someplace guaranteed to get us shot. So do us a favor and make our job easy. Don't stick your neck out unless you absolutely have to."

He squeezed the trigger and saw a figure jerk back from their perch inside one of the second level windows.

Discharging the spent shell, he quickly reloaded but was aware that the Major said nothing. "You're not paying me a bit of attention," Havoc growled. "Yeah, whatever." He started to bring his rifle up but paused when movement out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention.

"What the hell?" Havoc whispered.

Out in the open, in the middle of the broken street was a small child. The girl's long hair blew in the wind that flowed between the buildings. She could not be more than five or six years old from her height and cherubic features. A dark red blanket was wrapped around her like a cape, the edges clutched together under her chin with a small hand. She stumbled slightly, struggling over the broken surface as she continued toward where the bulk of the squad waited.

"She's going to get herself killed wandering into the middle of a fight." Instinctively, Havoc started to get up. He could not just stand idly by and watch as something terrible happened to her.

Mustang moved, his hand reaching out and pushing Havoc back. "Take cover," was the simple order.

"What? Wait!"

Just as the little girl started running toward them, Mustang drew a gloved hand up.

Havoc tried to stop him, grabbing his arm. "You crazy son of a bitch!"

_snap_

There was a small flash, then a much larger one. The heat and force of a massive explosion blew Havoc off his feet.


	12. Dreams of Ordinary People

Sorry about the long wait.

**skatterkat **- Thank you so much! ** Roy-Fan-33** - That wasn't one of my better chapters and rereading it just now, I realize I wasn't clear and lots of places. Oops. As for the pre-story notes/replies, it comes from posting stories to a couple of message boards and I just feel like if you are kind enough to reply to my writing, then I should acknowledge it. **SnufflesWillRise** - No worries, the action will pick up with this post.

Thanks for the replies everyone.

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**Dreams of Ordinary People**

The Present

Wispy clouds drifted through the evening sky like crests on a great ocean of the deepest blue fading to purple to the last dying oranges of the day. Along the fiery edge of the horizon were stark, black silhouettes of statuary and trees that overlooked East City's quiet Garden District. One by one, the yellow glow of streetlamps lit up the thoroughfares of the city.

Most of the shops had long since closed, leaving only restaurants, theatres and the dance halls open as dusk fell. Signs of people were sparse, as most had already made their way home for the evening.

A lone car passed quietly through the empty streets. Few private citizens owned vehicles and the transport of the military was king as it turned onto Sulbury Lane that bordered the southern edge of Grasmere Park.

From the confines of the brown car, Roy stared tiredly out the window at the elegant row houses that lined the streets. Interior lights gave them a warm glow. Every once and a while, he caught sight of people moving about inside the houses. Families. Mothers, fathers and children were settling in for a home cooked meal and then an evening together around the radio.

In one of those fleeting moments of insanity, he tried to imagine himself in an ordinary life, working a regular job and coming home to a real family. Perhaps that was too much of a fantasy. Even career military men could have families. General Hakuro and Maes came to mind. Hell, he imagined Maes was probably glued to a phone somewhere getting updates on how much little Elicia had grown today from Gracia.

Family was something he had never really given much thought too. His goals came first. Family would only complicate things.

A silent smirk bled across his features. The fact was he could not imagine any other life than the one he had.

This was the way it was and he could not change it, only amend for mistakes along the way.

Noting the tightly clipped blond hair of his driver, he glanced at the rearview mirror and caught her deep amber eyes shifting away. With a heavy sigh, he accepted the waiting fate and decided to face the executioner. "What is it?"

Hawkeye glanced at the mirror again but swiftly turned her gaze back to the road. "Nothing, sir."

He hated it when she used that curt, formal tone with him. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked back out the window at the stream of houses. All the thoughts of family were just a wasted effort, the truth was, he had something better than a wife, and a modicum more annoying: Lt. Hawkeye.

"You think I should have told Ed the truth."

"I did not say that."

He rubbed his forehead slightly and closed his eyes. A dull throbbing was beginning to take shape inside his skull. The pain seemed to be attached to any and all thoughts of Edward Elric. "I also suppose you think I shouldn't have had them arrested."

Hawkeye said nothing, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

"I had to protect Ed from himself."

"And who is going to protect you from yourself?"

How absurd, he thought as he lightly chuckled. Without looking up, he said, "That's what you are for."

"Then you should take more care to listen to my advisements, sir."

Ah, now Roy understood. He had released her of her duties earlier that day, but as he left to attend a dinner meeting, he found her standing there with the car. A part of him wanted to be angry that she disobeyed but another part was glad to see her, even if she was acting as his self appointed bodyguard.

A smile reached his dark eyes. "So, what's next?" He purred, "Are you also going to spend the night with me, Lieutenant?"

"Sir?" she sounded a little startled.

Propping his elbow up on the passenger door armrest and resting his chin against the heel of his hand, he sighed.

"Rhodes could be waiting in my apartment. Who will watch over me then?"

The sternness returned to Hawkeye's voice. "Very funny, sir."

"I am not a child that needs to be protected."

"Sometimes you do."

"Lieutenant—"

"Forgive me for my frankness, sir, but when the people around you are in danger, you tend to be irrational." Damned, stubborn man was what she was really thinking. "This isn't all about you, sir."

"She is after me."

"There are people who care about what happens to you. Loyal people." At first, she was afraid to steal a glance into the rearview mirror, afraid to see if her words had angered him. In the end though, she managed a quick look and found him staring out the window again, like he had all the way to the meeting and now on their way back to HQ.

She wondered if he had heard anything she said.

It took her a moment, but she forced her attention outside the car. As she drove, she scanned the street, the sidewalks, even the dark alleys as they passed by. Every fiber of her being knew an attack was coming but not when and she hated that.

Slipping a hand from the steering wheel, she lightly brushed her fingers over the cool metal shape of a holstered gun at her hip. Earlier that afternoon she had decided to carry a second, more accessible weapon, particularly when seated behind the steering wheel.

Riza Hawkeye would not hesitate to fire her weapon—to kill—if the Colonel was in danger. She had decided that a long time ago.

Slowing as the car approached an intersection, she did a quick scan before coming to a complete stop. They would be back at Eastern in a few minutes and then she could let her guard down, at least a little. Giving the car gas, perhaps a little too heavy footed, the vehicle quickly picked up speed toward the familiar glow of lights that was Eastern Headquarters.

Slowing at the next intersection, she rounded the corner and started to accelerate when someone ran into the car's path. Slamming on the breaks, she swerved to avoid hitting the figure who just seemed to stop and watch. Jerking the wheel hard as the car hit the curb and rolled up onto the sidewalk, she managed to gain control and direct it back onto the street.

Exhaling sharply, she asked, "Colonel are you—"

The window next to her exploded in a hail of glass. She tried to swerve to avoid the attack but thick, crystalline shards smashed through the opening and the back window as glass shredded metal and cloth.

The vehicle was forced up onto its passenger side wheels as the metal doors were torn apart. Struggling with one hand to grab her gun and keep a fierce grip on the steering wheel with the other, she lost her balance as slid over the bench. A shard burst through the windshield, its sharp edge slicing through her uniform and into her arm. A pained cry escaped her as she smashed into the passenger side door.

Above her, the cloth roof lit up in a flash of controlled flames and was quickly burned away. Something grabbed her by the back of the jacket and pulled her through the freshly made opening.

Crashing into the street with such force, the wind was knocked out of her. The burn of dozens of cuts fogged her mind as she fumbled to reach the weapon she had dropped.

To her side, the Colonel was on his knees, leaning forward, holding himself up with one hand firmly planted to the pavement. He let out a cry that was followed by the clank of glass hitting the ground.

Her gaze briefly alighted on the shard, glistening red in the light of a distant street lamp.

Movement out of the edge of her vision brought an instinctive response. The gun in her hand quickly found its target. The man, who had caused the accident, clutching a long pipe jerked back as a spray of blood exploded from his forehead.

The sharp smell of gasoline lingered in the air.

"Colonel—"

"Get out of here!" he growled as he struggled to get up while gripping his wounded side.

Something moved to her right. She twisted, raising her gun to fire at another figure when a sea of black washed over her.


	13. The Damned

**JKH** - Would you expect anything less of me? After all, cliffhangers are my specialty. natch **Roy-Fan-33** - Sorry about the delay last time and this time. I kind of forget about it, I'm busy back to writing some of my favorite and original stuff and this doesn't get daily attentiion like they do. **Miss Mustang** - Thanks! **Lady of the Storm** - Thank you very much. Again, sorry for the long absence. I'll try to update more often. **Anne Packrat** - Thanks. And the Grasmere Park thing, it just sounded like it fit. **ThatLittleBlondeAngel** - Grown? Oh this is nothing, I think there's still about thirty chapters left to go.

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**The Damned**

"Lieutenant Havoc!"

Oh no. Maybe if he kept walking, just pretending not to hear, he could escape. Yes, that was a good plan, Havoc thought as he picked up his pace slightly. Though he tried to look casual as he walked down the long corridor, he could hear the echo of approaching footsteps off the sterile walls of main building of Eastern HQ.

Every fiber of his being, wanted to break into a mad sprint.

Surely he could outrun Lt. Col. Hughes.

All the air in his lungs exploded out of him sending his fresh cigarette flying, bouncing over the tiled floor thanks to a powerful slap on the back. "Sir?" he gasped.

"You're just the man I want to see."

Havoc braced himself ready for a deluge of dozens of pictures of an admittedly cute little girl. "Something I can do for you?" he asked, fishing in his pocket for another cigarette. To his surprise, Hughes shoved a brown paper bag toward him. "Thanks but I've already eaten—"

"It's not for you."

"Oh."

Looking very serious, Hughes straightened as Havoc took the bag. "Could you take this to Ed in holding? I've got to leave, there's been another sighting of Rhodes."

"Where's the Colonel?" He was surprised that Mustang was not mobilizing everyone to go after her right at that moment. Not that he was complaining; he had no desire to go facing off that mad woman or the Hareti with her.

Hughes shrugged. "He's off at some local affairs meeting."

"You mean a date?"

Scratching the back of his head, Hughes took on a thoughtful expression. "I'm pretty sure he said it was a meeting. Hawkeye was driving."

"Oh well then—"

"Whatever, I've got to go. Just try to calm Ed down."

The cigarette clung to Havoc's lower lip as his jaw dropped. "Are you sure you don't need help?"

Hughes laughed as he took off the way he had come but paused and glanced back. "I'll pay you back for this favor by sharing pictures of Elicia later!"

"Great," Havoc said with a wave and an empty blink. "Just shoot me," he said through gritted teeth. Once Hughes had vanished down the corridor, he headed for the stockade where hopefully the Elric brothers were waiting.

Out of the central building, across the commons, passed the warehouses, through the housing area to the farthest point from where he had started, Havoc approached the stockade. He was relieved that everything looked in order, which was always a good sign. Bright overhead lights left the area well lit and he easily worked his way through security, offering smokes and cigarettes as he went to ease his journey. Of course, it also helped that he was known as one of Mustang's subordinates.

Entering the corridor leading to the holding area, it occurred to him that Ed tended to listen to Lt. Col. Hughes before he would Mustang. Then again, after he thought about it a little more, he decided he could kind of understand why. Hell, if it had not been for Medes or all the years that he had chosen to serve under the Colonel and just met him out of the blue, he would have thought Mustang was an arrogant ass not worth any respect or loyalty. Even knowing better, he knew the Colonel was a cocky bastard.

That was what kept things interesting.

His footsteps were loud, reverberating against the stone and metal that made up the row of holding cells. Other than two youthful voices at the end of the corridor, all was quiet. At first, he thought it was a bit odd, but then decided it was the middle of the week after all. Things usually did not get interesting around there until the weekends. Drunken soldiers and a civilian population with a few days of respite from the work grind often did not mix well.

The voices fell silent.

"Don't stop on my account," he teased as he stepped in front of the last cell on the block and leaned against the bars.

"Lieutenant Havoc," Al said happily from his place on a cot.

"Oh, you mean the Colonel didn't come to apologize in person for locking us up?" Ed asked in his characteristically sarcastic tone. He was sitting on the floor opposite Al, he back pressed firmly to the grey wall.

"He doesn't have anything to apologize for," Havoc said.

"What?" Ed bellowed. "He had us locked up for no good reason."

Offering a shrug as his response, Havoc chose not to get into an argument over Mustang's reasons. He thought he knew the Colonel's reasons but he certainly was not going to speak on his behalf. Sighing, he pushed the brown bag through the bars and tossed the sandwich at Ed, landing it perfectly in the blond haired boy's lap. "From Lt. Col. Hughes."

Ed just stared at the bag, and then broke into a smile as he quickly dug a sandwich out.

"Careful," the Lieutenant warned as he knelt down to be almost eye level with the elder Elric. "That probably came from the mess hall."

"It's food and I'm starving." The boy bit into the sandwich and grimaced. "I've had better," he whimpered.

Al looked toward Havoc. "Do you know when we will be set free?"

"Well, if the Colonel has his way, not until Rhodes is caught."

"Oh."

"What's he afraid of?" Ed asked between bites. "That we'll clean up his mess?"

"Whoa," Havoc said, unwittingly sounding more defensive than he would have liked to. He caught the brief look of surprise in Ed's golden eyes. "You don't know what you are talking about."

"Oh yeah? What am I talking about then?" Ed challenged.

Havoc looked down the long corridor and saw no one nearby and then shifted, sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor. He reached up and took a hold of the cigarette in his mouth. Holding it out, he just stared at it for a moment, decided not to light it and put it back in its place. "How familiar are you with the stories of the Eastern Rebellion?"

"A little," Al said, speaking for both in a decidedly less biting tone.

"You've heard of the Ishbal Rebellion?"

"Yeah," Ed replied through a mouthful of sandwich.

"Have you heard of Medes?"

"No," Al answered.

"It was about 50 or so miles north of Ishbal."

Ed stopped chewing and looked at Havoc. "Was?"

"Probably all that's left are a few scattered ruins sticking out of the sand these days." He leaned up against the bars.

"I don't like talking about that place, so don't ask me about it later. Don't even talk about it. Hawkeye doesn't want to hear about it and certainly don't go yapping about it in front of the Colonel." He reached up and grabbed the cigarette dangling from his lower lip and looked at it. Once again, he replaced it. "If there is a hell, I've seen it and it is ruled by Odessa Rhodes."

"The Healing Touch Alchemist?" Ed asked. "I've never heard of her."

"You probably never will. She was a traitor and probably erased from the records. The military doesn't much like them." He rubbed his shoulder, feeling the light ache bite into him. "She was a doctor. Real good at healing wounds with her alchemy." He noted Ed brighten slightly. "I don't know what happened. Just one day, I guess she cracked. Stormed out of the camp hospital and was not seen again." He shook his head. "Well, maybe that's not entirely true. I guess the brass knew what happened to her. She ran off to help to Ishbalans but they didn't want her alchemic medicine since it's forbidden among their people. She found friends among some of the Ishbalan exiles, the Hareti. I guess she wormed her way into the heart of the rebel leader by offering up supply train information. She knew when the medical supplies came and on those trains were food and weapons to sustain the military."

Ed closed his eyes and looked away. "I see."

"You lose a few supply trains and things get damned hard on the front. Needless to say, the brass wanted to make a very public example of her. The got their wish when intelligence found her hiding with a small group of the Hareti in the ruins of Medes."

"I bet." Ed had placed the remaining half of his sandwich on the bag on his lap.

Havoc laughed. "The then Major Soham had persuaded some of the higher ups to let him take her alive. He thought it would boost his career. Old Basque Grand wasn't about to let Soham screw up and let her escape. He wanted her dead and sent the Colonel along with execution orders and a clean up squad to finish off the remaining Hareti."

Al shifted on the cot. "Clean up squad?"

"Yeah." Digging his fingers into the muscle and knot of scar tissue in his shoulder, Havoc grimaced slightly. "Part of the job is to pick off people escaping and part of it is to see that the alchemist in charge of the elimination doesn't get shot full of holes. Grand wasn't too forgiving of losing one of his weapons."

"You were a bodyguard?" Ed asked.

"Something like that." He stole a glance at the two boys and realized he had their complete attention. Withdrawing slightly, he glanced down the corridor to make sure there was no one else riveted by his tale. "Hawkeye and I worked together a lot back in those days. She's one of the best sharpshooters in the field."

"Yeah, she's good." Ed smirked. "Surprised she hasn't shot the Colonel yet."

Havoc arched a brow but decided to hold onto that memory. Even with time and all the smoke and dust that had choked the air in Medes, he could still see their silhouettes atop the debris. Hawkeye was pulling the trigger, the empty clicks, and the Colonel just standing there, letting her fire at him.

How different everything would have been if he had been right and that gun had a few shots left in it.

"Lieutenant?" Al's hollow voice snapped the older man out of his daze.

"Yeah?"

"Thought we had lost you there for a minute," Ed said.

Smiling as he rubbed the back of his neck, Havoc then sat up. "No, I was just thinking about something." He sobered slightly and continued with his story. "They were waiting for us. I swear they must have used her like bait just so they could pull a few of us away from the main forces and take us out. I don't know what they thought that would accomplish but that had to be their goal." He shook his head. "It should have been an easy mission, just capturing a doctor and taking out a few rebels. It was supposed to be easy. They hid in the buildings, everyone armed, leading us into the village, down the main street. We were sitting targets."

After a moment, Havoc laughed. "I wasn't green. I'd seen my fair share of fighting but even I was stupid. I almost fell for the worst trap of all."

"Sir?" Al asked when Havoc said nothing for a time.

"Do you know why the Hareti are so dangerous?"

The boys shook their heads.

"They have been exiled from their people. Means they can't live with the other Ishbalans. They are treated as non-entities. Denied by their families. They might as well be dead and that's how they see themselves. They have nothing left to lose." He shook his head and spoke softly, "I knew the danger. I knew they would use tricks to divide us, to take us out. And yet," the words drifted into silence.

_Take cover._

"She was running towards us. Maybe she was scared. Escaping. I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to help her. She was just little girl."

_snap_

"If she had gotten any closer, she would have killed us all." He looked at Ed and Al and for a moment felt embarrassed. He tried to smile but it just was not in him. "They had strapped bombs to her, sent her running to us, to get close and then explode. The Colonel saw her for what she was. If he hadn't stopped her, we would have let her come running in." He reached for his cigarette but caught himself mid motion and put his hand back down. "After the smoke cleared there was just nothing left except a burned spot on the ground where she had been. Then they started firing. Soham's men were unprotected. They were ripped apart."

"But killing is against their religion," Al said sounding almost panicked.

"Against mine too, but war, it breaks all the rules. These rebels they didn't care, they just wanted to take as many of us with them." Havoc laughed. "And that's when it got ugly."


	14. No Compromises

**Roy-Fan-33 **- Yeah, but it was also a good place to leave off. **words without **- Sorry about that. I even tried to be more timely this time but it wouldn't let me upload a new chapter for the last two days. I'll try to update more often. **Nanny** - I'll try! **SnufflesWillRise** - I'm glad you enjoyed the post. I found Havoc to actually be fun to write, which I think helps.

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**No Compromises**

In the microcosm of the moment, Roy Mustang was completely aware of the world around him. His mind worked at lightning speed, analyzing the components of the surrounding air. Taking them apart and rebuilding them as pockets of enriched oxygen.

It was a precision dance, creating the bubbles, getting the spark to them at just the right instant before their potency dispersed into the wind. This was what he was good at.

He had proved it unequivocally during the State Alchemist trials. There were many good candidates whom had reached the exhibition portion. He had played the part expected of him, putting on a show as he stepped out with a lighter in hand, unwilling to immediately give away all the secrets of his white gloves with the transmutation circles stitched in them.

With the flick of the lighter, a single spark was all he needed to create malleable flame. It was like a game, bending it, twisting it about with alchemic control not shown by others vying for that one, coveted spot as a State Alchemist. Where he required a single, all-purpose array and a sharp mind, they had drawn various transmutation circles, struggled to create fanciful objects of no real importance to the State or its military. Reaching back through a lifetime of alchemic studies, he too could have created towers and statuary, rebuilt broken objects and even filled the exhibition grounds with a flood of colorful flowers. Yes, those skills were a part of his repertoire, but far from as great or refined as his skill controlling flame was.

Making a plant grow and bloom would not serve him here. He would not waste this chance with the mundane.

Some alchemists had tried many times for State certification, but Roy had known this would be his only attempt.

The Fuhrer and the high-ranking alchemists standing at either side would not deny him.

Though they watched with almost unaffected expressions as he danced the flames about, snaking them between the men, Roy was not concerned.

He was younger than most who had performed for the trials. The others were seeking the extraordinary research funds they would receive along with their State title. He could feel the heat of envy in their eyes as he brought the fiery dance to a carefully controlled end. Calmly he closed the lighter and pocketed it.

Basque Grand stepped forward to say something.

Roy was not yet finished.

The words were cut off by a single snap followed by dozens of small, yet precise explosions that sent men scurrying to protect the Fuhrer who stood there unfazed amongst it all as if expecting this last bit of show.

The anger that lit Grand's face was quickly replaced by a hungry look.

A look that Roy would learn to hate, as he would be forced out onto the battlefield day after day, but at that moment, that was all he desired.

He never hesitated. Mission followed by mission for weeks on end without a break, but he never let them see his reticence for doing his duty. In truth, the devil inside that liked to watch the fire dance would never pause. He followed orders without question, because the military leaders were doing what was best for the State.

The smoke was still a part of him, ingrained in his skin; the ash still filled his lungs even years after the war had ended. His senses were tainted with the sweet, sickly smell of burned flesh. When his mind was still, he could still hear the gunfire from the shooters that surrounded him and the Ishbalan who only wanted to take his life.

Sometimes, he jerked, the sound so close it was startling, and yet, he was not afraid of the bullets.

A pained yelp to his left tore into his thoughts.

Instantly, his mind crossed from the pain-filled haze back into the sharpness of the moment. His actions were quick and without falter. He locked eyes with the deep reds of their attacker.

Only briefly.

_snap_

Flames, like an ancient serpent, quickly coiled around the tattooed man. With an insatiable fire, it closed in on the man, the heat so intense, the Ishbalan never had a chance to scream.

The familiar smell of death was tinged by the toxic stench of gas fumes. Just as the burning man collapsed dangerously close, Roy grabbed Hawkeye's still form and rolled her onto her side. Blood oozed from a deep gash above her right brow.

He twisted around, looking desperately about. To his back was the shattered remains of the car, large jagged spears of glass protruded from the shattered windows and had torn through the metal body as if it had been merely cloth.

Reflecting in the light of the burning body, liquids dripped from the smashed engine compartment.

"Wake up. I can't carry you," he growled. When Hawkeye did not respond, he rocked back slightly and pressed a hand to his wounded side. Warm blood soaked through the fibers of his glove. "Damn."

Glancing around again, Roy searched for any more attackers. He knew that Rhodes had to be nearby. The glass attack was her handiwork. It also likely meant her henchmen were also close.

Grabbing the Lieutenant under the arm, he pulled the unconscious woman close; her bruised and bloodied face pressing to his chest. "Remember this, the next time you have a stack of paperwork for me to sign off on," he whispered, bracing himself before slinging her arm over his shoulder. Biting back the pain that laced through his side and almost made him pass out, he struggled to his feet, pulling her with him. Every step was difficult, harder than the next as he half dragged the smaller Hawkeye away from the fire and the wrecked car.

"Who is supposed to be protecting who?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Stars twirled and fluttered in and out of existence at the edge of his vision as he approached a curb. Slowly, he managed to lift his foot, enough to step up, pulling Hawkeye along with him. After only a few steps across the grassy carpet, they both crashed to the ground.

Holding himself up, he stared at the still figure next to him. From the corner of his eye, he caught the flames on a feeding frenzy. They engulfed the car with little pause, creating a bright orange glow that stretched up and down the crossing streets and casting demonic shadows across the ground.

Roy smiled as he listened to the roar of the flames. This was workable, he thought. Though he was not happy that Hawkeye was involved, let alone hurt.

The crackle of the burning car nearly obliterated the sound of approaching footsteps.

But not quite.

Reacting instinctively, Roy lashed out. A series of controlled explosions tore through the street sending bodies flying. He was on his feet, focusing his attack on anything that moved. More tattooed Hareti burst into flames.

"You didn't waste any time," he huffed as he turned to face Odessa Rhodes.

She stood calmly in the middle of the intersection, silhouetted by the flames of the burning vehicle. "And risk dogs tearing me down before I take your life?" she asked softly.

Roy stood motionless, unwilling to be drawn away from where Hawkeye lay for fear that she would be left vulnerable.

_Used against him._

Gripping his wounded side, he desperately tried to focus, pushing the pain back. Brushing his fingers across the back of his hand, activating the array, he utilized the flames from the burning car. Like demons in the night, the flames licked out toward the woman.

Rhodes responded, ducking low, her palms pressing to the ground. A shimmering, crystalline wall rose up, tall and wide, shielding her from the flames.

The Flame Alchemist was not so easily thwarted.

_snap_

A series of well-placed explosions brought the wall crashing down on top of Rhodes. She screamed as she tried to escape the destruction.

Roy mentally followed her, setting fireballs off all around, desperate to take her out. His physical and mental reflexes were somewhat hindered.

A blast sent her flying.

Now it was over.

Odessa Rhodes lay in a heap on the ground; a multitude of cuts glistening in the firelight. "I won't go so easily!" she spat, struggling to get up.

He would not make the same mistake twice. He would see that she was dead this time. He raised a gloved hand.

The air caught in his lungs and his vision swam, as he was struck hard across the chest. The blow knocked his feet out from under him and he landed on the pavement with a dull thud.

"Get her out of here!" the Hareti looming over him barked as more figures moved from the shadows.

The blow had winded him and Roy was almost certain cracked a rib or two. He struggled to catch his breath, even as he crawled over the ground, determined to get out of the Ishbalan's range. Broken glass tore into his left hand, through the protective cloth as he scrambled away.

The air was violently forced from his lungs again as another blow met him across the shoulder blades.

"No!" Rhodes screamed. "He's mine!"

The distant sound of sirens echoed through the night.

The Hareti paid Rhodes' cry little attention as he raised the heavy metal pipe again. Gunshots rang out. He jerked violently before tumbling backward.

Twisting slightly, Roy saw Hawkeye kneeling where he had left her. Her hands held straight out, gripping her weapon. They trembled as she struggled to maintain the position.

He would thank her later as he pushed himself up, his breath coming in stabs as he unleashed a flame attack on several Hareti running to Rhodes' aid. They burst into flames, lighting the area around the fallen woman. A grief stricken cry tore from her.

Several vehicles tore around the corner. They quickly closed in on the scene.

Raising his hand, Roy snapped his fingers but nothing happened. His glove was soaked with blood and useless. Shock only lasted a moment before movement to his left caught his attention. He tried to react but was not fast enough.


	15. The War Prayer

**tam** - Thanks! **Roy-Fan-33** - Am I going to have to start posting warnings before every chapter? LOL **Reius Devirix** - Thank you very much. **vefa** - Hope this is soon enough of an update. **b7-kerravon** - You'll find out soon. **Miss Mustang** - Thank you! **SnufflesWillRise** - Yikes, I better get a post up then. We wouldn't want you to suffer too much. That said, I guess I better apologize in advance for today's chapter. _Ducks and runs. _;)

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**The War Prayer**

Over the silhouette of houses, intense orange and yellow flames licked up toward the night sky in defiance of the darkness that reigned. Any other time, the scene might have been awe inspiring, but for Maes Hughes, at that moment, it was terrifying.

As a child, growing up surrounded by rolling plains and stalks of wheat for as far as the eye could see, he had seen his share of burning fields. The droughts, a spark from the train tracks that snaked through the amber oceans, even a carelessly dropped cigarette was all it took. It was beautiful, the distant glow on the horizon. Mesmerizing.

Often, he had known wonderment watching as the distant flames ate across the land and at times even known fear as he watch farms and homes that had been a familiar part of his youthful landscape be consumed.

He had never feared it, never hated it. Fire was as much a part of nature as was rain, which could flood towns and cities and wash away freshly sewn crops as easily as it could provide sustenance.

As a young man, thrust into the heart of the desert during the last years of the Ishbal uprising, he felt as if he were on an alien planet. Dry, arid and nothing but sand surrounded him. It was a far cry from the place he had called home. The one thing that remained constant was the fire. From the safety of his office at base camp, where the never ending flow of paperwork crossed his desk, mission manifests needing to be delivered, he was surrounded by campfires. Day or night, they burned. The day to heat food and water as needed and at night to keep everyone from freezing in the miserable cold that claimed the desert.

A false horizon to the north always glowed during the dark hours. During the day there was nothing but billowing clouds of black smoke, but at night, he could almost imagine the fields outside his hometown burning.

Except this was Ishbal.

It was always burning.

After all these years, it probably still did.  
He knew the source of many of those flames, back then and with fear creeping into his heart, he knew the source of them now. He knew who set the world on fire.

"Faster!" Hughes demanded of the driver but knew the man was going as fast as he could. There was nothing short of instantly being there that would be fast enough.

Every fiber in his being told him needed to be at the scene _right now_.

The car slowed to round a corner and all Hughes wanted to do was scream at the man. First calls about a group of tattooed Ishbalan come in which did little for his well-being; less so the moment when he saw the smoke and flames within moments of leaving Eastern HQ.

A startled gasp escaped the driver as he slammed on the breaks. The car screeched violently across the pavement. Hughes gripped the leather seats to keep from being tossed into the drivers' lap. The squeal of tires from behind grated on his strained nerves as the other troop vehicles slammed to a stop.

Ahead, a car—military issue—was tipped over and engulfed in flames. Shards poked up out of the vehicle and all about the ground, but he knew at least one occupant had survived the attack. The deduction was easy given the burning lumps scattered about the street.

Even though he knew what they were, he did not let the thought linger as he shoved the passenger door open and leapt out. Behind him, he heard the driver call out, but was running the instant he hit the ground. Protocol and safety be damned, his friend was in trouble.

Only the slightest hint of regret struck him the instant he caught a whiff of burned flesh. Drawing a hand over his nose to shield it from the stench, he delved deeper into the scene more like a war zone. The cold claws of panic gripped him as he paused, finding glass crunching underfoot.

The thunder of footsteps as soldiers rushed onto the scene drew his attention. From behind, a major quickly barked orders to secure the area.

Noticing movement on the far curb, Hughes broke into a sprint with little care for any dangers that might lie in wait. His course was jagged as he tried to avoid the denser piles of shattered glass while racing passed a few more bodies, these with bullets to the head.

Lt. Hawkeye was sitting on the edge of the curb. She looked as if she had seen better days. Her long blond hair fell in unruly cascades over her shoulders as she leaned forward ever so slightly. He resisted the urge to hug her as he sank to his knees in front of the young woman.

"Lieutenant?" A quick look over revealed relatively few wounds. Her arm was bleeding from a deep cut and swelling misshaped the side of her face. Pressing a finger to her chin, he gently tipped her face up slightly so the light from the burning car would give him a clearer view. The skin around her eye was dark from bruising and nearly swollen closed. "What happened?"

"The Colonel," she whispered. Raising her head sharply, the sudden movement made her unsteady even though she was sitting on the ground. Her dazed look sharpened as one amber eye met his concerned stare. She tried to get up but he pushed her back to the ground.

"Settle down, Lieutenant." Quickly glancing about, Hughes spied a nearby soldier. "Get an ambulance!" he called out. "No, get two!"

Turning back to Hawkeye, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders. She was trembling. "Where is Roy?"

She furrowed her brow and squeezed her eyes together. She shook her head and almost fell over.

Two soldiers approached and Hughes quickly motioned them close. "Take good care of her," he said sternly with no small hint of warning.

"Yes, sir!" came quick replies.

"Lieutenant Colonel!" a voice called out from the shadows down the street bordering the park.

Turning sharply, he caught sight of several soldiers retreating from some unseen threat. He ran along side a stream of jagged shards that snaked down the street and came to an abrupt stop at a crater. He almost fell in the hole, not seeing it for all the deep shadows that spanned across the pavement. Unsure of what lie ahead, he moved to be ready and reached to the back of his belt where he kept several small throwing knives stashed.

The men were just standing there among a glittering sea with their weapons were held in trembling grips but pointed toward the ground. It was probably the smartest thing they could have done, he thought. Seeing what had their attention, he easily recognized the shadowed form of his longtime friend.

Returning the blade to its place, he carefully approached the scene. His voice was even as he spoke to the men. "Just back away and make sure there are two ambulances on the way."

Relieved acquiesces filled the air as the three young soldiers obeyed.

"They fled," Roy said, his back to Hughes. "Like cowards, they ran away. You scared them off."

"They can't run forever," Hughes said stepping toward the man.

"I could have taken her," Roy growled. "There were only a few rebels left."

"I don't think the Garden District could have handled the ongoing fighting. As it is, they'll have to close this area off for repairs. You know Commandant Grumman is going to love hearing the complaints from the mayor."

Roy laughed and then made an almost inaudible grunt as he bent forward slightly, gripping his left side. "I'll make it up to the old man." He shifted slightly, his step somewhat unsteady. "I wounded her."

"Good." Hughes took a step closer.

"It won't kill her."

Hughes grimaced when Roy turned. From his arm to his side, his blue uniform was sliced open and in places was a glossy black in the distant firelight. "Gods, Roy." Moving quickly, he grabbed his friend by the right arm, catching him as he stumbled. "Maybe you should sit down."

Fire reflected in Roy's eyes. "Hawkeye—"

"Is pretty battered and worried about you. So don't make her come over here and give you a piece of her mind. She's in no condition to be walking around." He tried to smile, but it just was not in him. Within the confines of his chest, his heart was thundering and he could feel the icy grip of fear as he tightened his fingers around Roy's uniform sleeve.

He was afraid to let go.

Roy's voice broke as he spoke. "They came so fast." He wavered but this time Hughes could not catch him. Both men tumbled to the ground, Roy landing with a thud on his side. He struggled for a moment but his strength seemed to fade as he sank back to the street, resting on his back. For a moment, he just laid there, breathing heavily. "I think I broke some ribs."

"Is that all?" Hughes lightly asked.

"You should check on Hawkeye. She was hit—"

"She's being looked after." Leaning forward, Hughes examined two wide gashes above Roy's left elbow, and then he offered a cursory inspection of his friend's side. There was so much blood.

"Good," came the soft whisper.

"Roy?" Hughes asked, growing concerned. Seeing Roy's eyes drift closed, he lightly slapped the still man across the face. "Come on, Roy. Stay with me," he demanded. Twisting to look back over his shoulder, he barked, "Where's that ambulance?"


	16. Living Circles

**TheFerryman'sDaughter** - Thanks. Glad you enjoyed Hughes. There will be plenty more. **Roy-Fan-33** - Roy will live. For your warning, it's a nice, easy little posty today. (You'll need the break.) **Reius Devirix** - "Abrupt ending style" I like that description. :) Usually I just get yelled at for leaving readers hanging off a cliff without bungee cords. **vefa** - No worries! Thank you so much and I hope you continue to enjoy them. **Miss Mustang** - Thanks! Hope this is quick enough.

Thanks for all the kind replies everyone.

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**Living Circles**

The Past

The dog-eared pages of a well-worn journal were covered in sketched arrays and scribbled, often barely legible, notes. Some were serious, with bits of coded information worked in and around the images. Others were sad caricatures of a fractured mind. Arrays that served no real purpose save to take up space, but would confuse the uninitiated were they the opportunity to peruse his alchemic notes.

For that reason alone, Roy allowed such dalliances. Though some days, he could not tell the difference between the serious and meaningless. They all seemed to blend together into a jumble of unincorporated thoughts.

While many of the pages did carry his fire alchemy studies, many of the serious arrays were often of disparate theme. There were transmutation circles for altering stone, rebuilding a broken clock and various plant growth and cultivation arrays. Those last ones were only partial sketches, painfully incomplete, made from fading memories of childhood.

Mostly, the journal held the secrets of various arrays designed to capture and control fire. Though he rarely called upon the different designs, they were part of his alchemic arsenal. As a general rule, he did not need anything extraordinarily fancy. The simple array he used on a daily basis was all he really needed; it had proved long ago to be suitable in most applications.

It took no flourishes to set things on fire. He had proven that time and again during the Ishbal Rebellion.

A firm rap on the front door of his apartment broke Roy's concentration. He sighed and let the pencil drop but did not pull his gaze away from the smudged drawings on the open book. After a few moments, a louder knock was heard.

Yawning, he leaned back in his chair and studied the desk, piled high with old tomes on either side of the journal. He really should clean. The place was looking rather dusty. He just did not have the energy for it.

The door and half the apartment shook, as the knocks became pounds. "Open the damn door!" a voice barked from the other side.

Sighing heavily, Roy pushed himself out of the wooden chair. It squeaked irritably as he straightened. Muscles had tightened from the long hours sitting and staring at the journal and nearly refused to obey his command to walk across the room. He rubbed the back of his neck slightly as he undid the chain and unlocked the door.

Like a burst of sunshine, Maes Hughes appeared in narrow opening. "About time you decided to wake up."

"I've been awake," Roy said tiredly.

Maes was beaming, positively glowing, as he held up two dark brown liquor bottles. "Drink?"

Roy just looked at him.

"You've never turned down a drink," he said, pressing his shoulder against the door and shoving his way in. He nearly stumbled when Roy let go and allowed the door to fly all the way open.

"Please, come in," the shorter man said dryly after Maes had already pushed some books to the side and made himself comfortable on the couch. He sighed and closed the door. "I'm not busy."

"You're scribbling in that notebook again."

"Exactly."

Remaining seated with his back to Roy, Maes pushed more books off the small coffee table between the couch and a single chair opposite. One of the tall bottles was set firmly down with a thump as he drew the other one close. "You need to get out. Smell the fresh air, get a life outside of work."

"I don't feel like."

As if by magic, a small knife appeared in Maes' hand. He used it to pry at the cork in the bottle. "Yeah, well, you know as well as I do, sometimes you have to do things you don't feel like doing."

The words brought a frown.

"So, are you going to provide glasses or should we just drink straight out of the bottles?" Before Maes had finished, he pried the cork out and took a swig. He shook his head trying to recover. "That'll wake you up in the morning."

"Or put you out for the night."

"You haven't congratulated me yet."

"For what?" Roy just stared curiously at the back of his friend's head.

Shifting around on the couch, Maes threw his arm over the back and stared at Roy with no small amount of surprise.

"Where have you been lately?" He capped off the question with another swig. "I mean I've talked about it for weeks!"

"You proposed."

"Yes, sir!" Maes happily replied. "And Gracia said yes." He did a little dance from his seat on the couch. "Glasses, Roy." He took another swig.

Heading toward the kitchenette, Roy said, "If I wait long enough, you'll have drank the entire bottle and won't need a glass."

"I brought two bottles. Can't have enough libations." Maes raised an eyebrow as he watched Roy rub the back of his neck as he walked across the small apartment. "Try not to look too excited."

"Sorry, I'm just—"

"Tired. Yeah, I can tell by the circles under your eyes." He glanced about the apartment while Roy's back was to him. The place had definitely seen better days. Again, he caught Roy rubbing the back of his neck and surmised that he was sleeping at the desk. If indeed he was sleeping at all.

Glancing out the partially shaded windows, he could see the clouds boiling in the sky above. Setting the open bottle in the clearing he had made on the coffee table, he got up and walked over to the window. Drops of rain were lightly tapping against the glass.

Shifting his attention to the desk, piled high with worn volumes of alchemic studies, he looked over the names but little of it meant anything to him. Reaching for a small book, that looked to have fallen from one of the stacks, he picked it up. The edges of the red cloth cover were ragged and threads hung from the spine. Holding the book closed, he could see a small separation in the binding and carefully opened it to that spot. He scanned the writings but all the alchemical comments were beyond him. The only thing he was sure of was the words human transmutation. The whole thing made him shiver and he let the book fall back into its place just as Roy returned with two glasses.

"My least favorite weather," Roy mused out loud as he set the glasses down.

Maes slapped the shorter man across the back, nearly winding him. "Doesn't matter. In a short time, you'll be too drunk to care." He reached for the glasses and noted the sickly, withered looking aloe plant teetering on the edge of the table. He blinked a few times and shook his head. "Why do you keep torturing that poor thing?"

Surprise briefly lit Roy's obsidian eyes as he shifted to study the mostly dead plant. He fingered a limp leaf almost affectionately. "I forget to water it," he replied.

It was the same excuse Maes had heard for several years. Ever since the first time he saw the sad little plant sitting on the footlocker inside Roy's tent during the Ishbal campaign. Back then he had thought it was a miracle that the desert had not killed it.

Picking up the glasses, Roy absently handed them off toward Maes. Had it not been for a quick hand, they would have tumbled to the floor. The few books on the table were stacked on the towers of volumes on the desk. Maes' eyes widened as he saw a large transmutation circle scored into the wooden top. It was starkly different than the one sewn into the Flame Alchemist's gloves. This one had plant leaves drawn into the interlinking circles in the center.

Curiosity clutched him as Roy pushed the potted plant to the center and activated the array. The plant glowed at the heart of the alchemic reaction and as the light faded, it looked…a little less withered than before.

Roy just stared at it for a short and then sighed. Pulling the glasses from Maes' grip, he carried them over to the chair where he sat down and placed the glasses on two piles of books in the middle of the coffee table.

For a moment, Maes just stared at the plant sitting in the middle of the circle. He knew there were alchemists who could do magical things with plants and wondered if it was a particular talent as opposed to something that could be learned. "Have you spoken to your parents?" he asked as he scooped up the pot and carried it to a window.

Behind him, Roy laughed. "Not since I decided to become a State Alchemist."

Pushing up the window, Maes leaned out and set the plant on the fire escape so it could get some of the fresh rain and eventual sunlight it looked to be starving for. "I doubt they would be holding a grudge after this long."

Roy motioned toward the open window. "You don't know them. Hell, even Fred hates me."

Looking out at the half dead vegetation, Maes smiled. "Fred's a plant."

"Says you."

The words brought a curious look over Maes' shoulder, but Roy was staring off toward the front door. He looked around, wondering if the man had taken to drinking alone but saw no signs of liquor save for what he brought. "You know, Fred would probably like you a lot more if you watered it and gave it more sunshine than that dark corner it sits in all day." Sliding the window closed, he returned to the small space he had made earlier on the couch and sat down.

Taking up the opened bottle, he filled the two glasses with more than generous portions and handed one off to his friend. He downed his glassful and filled it up again before handing Roy the other one. "Drink up, we're celebrating."

"Yes, congratulations," Roy said with a smile as he quickly emptied his glass and held it out for refill.

"Now all we need to do is get you cleaned up and find you a good wife."

"Hughes."


	17. Aftermath

**Roy-Fan-33** - Yup, Hughes just loves to stand out, doens't he? **Miss Mustang** - Thanks! The flashback was a needed respite fromt eh tenseness of the story. **Steff7** - Thanks! **Perennial Rhinitis** - Sorry about the wait! **SnufflesWillRise** - Sorry, no wedding in this story. Just a couple of nice lashbacks. **purple-drake **- Well, I definitely believe character is plot and none of them came into existence just for this story, they have a past that plays a major part in who they are now and why they act a cerain way. I had to take a little creative license here and there in small spots, but I try not to do anything major or OOC. Thanks for the review!

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**Aftermath**

The Present

Helpless.

Useless.

The words bit deep into Riza Hawkeye's psyche. All she could think about was that she should have been able to do more. What good was a bodyguard that was knocked out at the beginning of the fight?

A deep sigh escaped her as she shifted slightly. Her golden hair cascaded over the pale blue gown she wore. The metal frame of the hospital bed made a pained sound as she tried to find a more comfortable position. Though, she doubted she could find any comfort there.

The slightest movements made her head swim. It just felt like her brains were sloshing around inside her skull. With a soft grown, she reached up but winced in pain as a sharp burn raced through her arm from pulled stitches. She gripped the thickly bandaged wound and fought the tears that clung to her lashes before spilling down her cheeks.

With a rush, the memory of the attack flooded back to her.

Instead of fighting the images, she replayed them in her mind again and again. She tried to find her mistakes and yet, could find nothing glaring.

Certainly she could have been more vigilant or taken a different route back than the one they had previously traveled. There were a thousand little things that could have been done different, but in the blur of memory, none of it, she was sure would have made any difference.

Slowly she raised her gaze to the brightly lit room, sterile and unforgiving. The stench of antiseptic made her vaguely ill. Pulling at the covers, she drew them up, feeling naked even though she was dressed in a hospital gown. It was strange without her uniform and gun close by and only added to that feeling of helplessness that was gripping her.

The stiff, white sheet was drawn into a pale fist. Tears welled and threatened to burst forth in an uncontrolled flood. All she wanted to do was scream.

A light rap on the closed door was almost ignored. Before she could tell whomever to go away, the door swung wide open revealing three familiar faces.

Havoc led the parade, unlit cigarette in his mouth. "See, I told you she wouldn't be resting."

"You really should be resting," Falman said.

Fury poked his head out from behind the taller man. In his hands was a vase of wildflowers. He smiled and set them on the table next to the bed. "The shops are closed this late but I thought these were pretty."

Hawkeye smiled but it made her face hurt. "Thank you."

A loud sneeze rang out from the hall. She strained slightly and saw Breda out in the corridor as another loud sneeze echoed through the room.

"Allergic to wildflowers," Havoc said.

"I see." She looked up and saw only looks of concern. "The Colonel—"

"We're taking bets," Havoc interrupted as he leaned up against the wall, "to see who can guess the closest to when the Colonel checks himself out of the hospital. You want in on it?"

Hawkeye just looked at the blond haired man.

"I'm figuring 36 hours. He'll sleep the rest of the night and if we're lucky part of tomorrow, but he'll be itching to get out. You know him."

"He's okay?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Havoc's mouth. That alone told Hawkeye she should not worry.

"I guess he was bleeding pretty bad, but the wounds themselves aren't that deep." Softer. "It would take a lot more to kill him." With a shrug, he raised his voice again. "He's going to hurt. His side and arm are pretty torn up. The docs will probably want to keep him through the weekend, and keep him on medical leave for a while to rest and recover, but somehow, I don't see the Colonel doing that. Are you sure you don't want in on the bet?"

"Probably be grouchier than usual too," Breda said from the hallway before sneezing again.

Fury sighed.

"Mustang grouchy?" Falman mocked.

"It'll be like Monday mornings all day, everyday," Havoc said as he folded his arms across his chest.

"I think I have some vacation time," Fury softly mused but yelped when Falman slapped him across the back of the head.

"Suffer with everyone else," the grey haired man said.

The news did not ease Hawkeye's inner turmoil. While the four seemed rather cavalier, even she could see the underlying concern.

As if knowing the progression of her thoughts, Havoc said, "A gun against an alchemist. Not exactly a winning move, especially when we are talking about one that can tear up the Colonel like she did."

"He wounded her," Falman pointed out.

"And between he and Hawkeye, they must have killed eight of her henchmen. Half of Eastern is scouring the city for them."

"Ma'am. Ma'am," Breda said as he backed up, waving his arms in surrender as he passed by the open door. "Ma'am."

"Uh oh," Havoc whispered, pulling the cigarette from his mouth.

"What are all you men doing in here?" a stout nurse with sharp features demanded as she stood in the middle of the wide doorway.

"It's okay," Hawkeye said. "They're my—"

"No, it's not. You are supposed to be resting," the nurse said sternly as she grabbed Falman and Fury by the sleeves and pulled them toward the door. "The doctor's orders—"

Havoc stepped close to Hawkeye's bed. "They already threw us out of surgical waiting. The Lt. Colonel is there. We'll be around. You just rest." Pain lit his features. "Ouch! Ouch!"

The nurse had him by the ear and pulled him out of the room, closing the door behind her. The sound of muffled yelps could be heard.

Hawkeye smiled, but it quickly faded when she found herself alone again. At least, the Colonel would be all right. She would never have forgiven herself otherwise.


	18. Traitorous Hearts

** JKH** - Thanks, Birdy. **words without** - There's enough royai that you will know it, but not enough to overwhelm the story. **Miss Mustang** - Thank you so much! I'm glad you are enjoying my interpretations of the characters. **vefa **- Sorry! It's not over, I'm just a bad author by not keeping up with my posting. **Perennial Rhinitis** - Whoops, caught another one of my boobers. **Reius Devirix** - Thanks! **XStrife** - Hopefully the rest of the story will live up to what's preceeded it. Thanks for the kind words. **SnufflesWillRise** - LOL on the typo! **Marz1** - Glad you are enjoying it.

Once again, I have to apologize for the exceptionally long delay. I'm going to try posting several chapters at a time to speed it to the end and not continue everyone's suffering. Thanks for being patient with me.

* * *

**Traitorous Hearts**

The words were still crisp in Odessa Rhodes' mind, even so many years later.

_How can you live with yourself, Tim?_

Three years into the fighting at Ishbal, she had learned she could not live with herself. She was doing what she had been trained to do, what she thought her purpose was, but instead, she was healing soldiers that turned around and went back out to war killing and maiming each other again and again. It ate at her, rotting her insides every time she watched a recovered soldier get up, pick up his gun and head back out.

All she was doing was continuing the cycle of pain and death.

_Their blood will be on your hands. You know this._

Free moments were spent between the rushes of casualties hiding behind the hospital tent crying. She hated herself for getting caught up in the war. She was a healer, a doctor.

She had briefly found a kindred spirit in the Crystal Alchemist, Tim Marcoh, but she quickly learned that he too was trapped in a situation beyond his control.

Except that he was willing to create death in the form of red water. Such a distasteful thing. Such things were taboo for a reason, she thought. Alchemists were supposed to improve the lives and help the people. That was why she wanted to be one.

Not to become a destroyer.

Before she uttered the words, she knew the irony. "Traitorous bastard," she growled as she pulled her shawl over her scarred shoulders. It had taken painful hours but she had used her skills to urge her body to heal. The wounds were far from recovered and she could not take away the scarring, but at least they were no longer open.

She would live. If nothing else, just long enough to take that last life.

_The one who had destroyed the temple in Medes._

Be thou for the people, she thought darkly.

Picking up the lit lantern sitting on the floor next to her chair, she slowly straightened, her body aching and tired.

If it had not been for Nevar, the Flame Alchemist would have burned her alive. It hurt her heart they had to leave before the task was done. Worse, so many of Hirada's men—including Nevar—had been killed just so she could have her revenge.

Holding the lantern out before her, the flickering light sent shadows dancing about the tall corridor as she weaved her way around debris from crumbling walls.

The lantern revealed faded murals dedicated to the Sun God Leto. They were deep in the oldest part of East City, known simply as the Remnant as it still held reminders of the tribes that had once lived there before being driven toward the Great Desert so long ago.

The Temple of Leto was doomed to be destroyed in coming weeks and replaced with cheap housing for East City's growing population, but for now, it would provide shelter for her, Hirada and the remainder of his men.

Echoing through the cavernous structure, she could hear the softly whispered prayers of the Hareti. It was almost songlike as they beseeched their god to give them strength for revenge, hoping that their prayers were still heard and answered.

Entering into the primary sanctuary, she paused as the firelight from the lantern flickered about, casting demonic figures about the walls.

After a few moments, her gaze settled on two figures huddled in the corner. Approaching slowly, the firelight cast stark shadows across a young woman's face. Terror lit her wide eyes as she clutched a small girl close to her. "No," she cried, trying to escape but the wall held them trapped.

"What do you want?" came a terrified question.

Odessa smiled at the shadow-obscured face. "I have a few questions for you."

* * *

**Unspoken Fear**

"I don't think so," Ed said as he sat on the floor of his cell, lightly picking at the cold, dry toast that a guard had slid through the narrow opening in the bars. "I mean, what reason would Lt. Havoc have to make up a story like that?"

Al sat there quietly.

Sensing his younger brother's unspoken concern, he inquired, "Why do you ask?"

"Do you think you will have to do terrible things like that?"

Setting the toast down on the tray, Ed stared at the floor. "I don't know." Something deep inside told him there would come a time he would have to make difficult, terrible decisions. He hoped in the end he could live with his actions, but he would never do anything simply because he was ordered. He would quit the military first. Al's silent examination was relentless. He could feel his brother just watching him.

"We could break out," Ed announced, eager to turn he and Al's thoughts away from Havoc and the terrible story of Medes.

"We could get in a lot of trouble," Al replied from his seat on the bottom bunk.

Sighing, the youth pressed his back against the wall. "But we didn't do anything wrong!" The fight drained out of him and he brushed his long bangs back from his face. Growling, he hit the wall, his automail hand clanging against the stone. "As soon as I'm out of here, I'm going to let that arrogant—"

The sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor brought a sudden silence.

As the noise seemed to be almost on them, Ed laughed. "Are we getting more company?"

Al leaned toward the bars slightly. "I think it is Lt. Col. Hughes."

"Finally," Ed said. He didn't look up when the man stopped in front of the cell. "Well, it's about time," he said irritably. "Did you finally talk some sense into that—"

"Ed," Al whispered. "Ed!"

At the tense tone, Ed looked up and saw Hughes just standing there quietly. He looked exhausted and hardly the chipper, borderline insane person he had gotten to know. The tall man was staring off toward the wall.

A cold chill raced through Ed as he roughly shoved the remains of his breakfast and tray off to the side and stood up. "What happened?" he demanded, rushing to the bars that separated them. "Lt. Colonel?" The stale toast turned to a rock in his system as he stared at the dark stains marring Hughes' usually crisp uniform.

"Are you hurt?" Al asked as he too stood up.

Surprise lit Hughes' grim expression as he looked down and brushed his fingers over the dark cloth. "I should have changed into something clean," he said absently.

"Lieutenant Colonel?" Ed pressed.

For a time, Hughes just stared at his stained uniform. He seemed detached from everything.

Reaching through the bars, Ed grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him forward, nearly crashing him into the metal rods that stood between them like sentinels. "What happened?" he demanded to know.

When Hughes finally looked up, the deep weariness in his eyes made Ed withdraw. The older man leaned forward slightly, pressing his hands to the horizontal supports as if to brace his weight that had suddenly become too much to bear. His fingers tightened around the metal so tight that his knuckles turned white. "I didn't sleep much," he said almost absently. A familiar smile faintly danced across his tired features. "Have you ever felt like you were using a slingshot to combat a problem when what really needed was a canon?"

Ed glanced back over his shoulder at Al, hoping to glean if his younger brother, who was better at reading people, understood. All he sensed was confusion from the hulking form. Looking back at Hughes, he asked, "Was it Rhodes? Did she attack again?"

Hughes tightened his grip around the bars. "Roy wounded her, but she managed to escape. They are combing the streets for her, Hirada and the few of his men left.

"Well, sounds like you got everything under control then," Ed said before stepping around Al and finding a place on the cot. He leaned back against the wall and stretched. "I guess you don't need me. Not that I could do much good locked up here."

"Brother," Al softly chastised.

Seeming to snap out of his daze, Hughes fished a small ring of keys from his pocket. "I can't fight her on my own, I need a cannon." He reached up and rubbed his eyes with his free hand, pushing his glasses up slightly. Then he unlocked the heavy door that kept the brothers imprisoned.

"Won't the Colonel be mad you are going over his head?" Ed asked, straightening.

Hughes paused and glanced up. "Roy…Colonel Mustang," he paused. "There was an attack last night. Lt. Hawkeye took a blow to the head and a few cuts. They were keeping her for observation but they might let her out later today."

"What?" Al asked sounding startled.

"And the Colonel?" Ed asked, finally understanding.

"It was a long night." Hughes turned the key and old mechanisms shifted, clattering loudly as the door swung open. He blocked the door, but the old fire was back in his eyes. "You can either help me find this woman or you can stay in here. Your choice."

* * *

**Realizations**

Ed tiredly pushed the thick book away. After staring at report after report most of the day and well into the evening, he thought his brain had turned to pudding. "I don't think I can read another word," he softly groaned.

Al looked up, but remained silent before again hunching over the table that seemed too small for his massive body. He turned the page on the book he had been skimming. "I think I'm too young to be reading this," he announced. It was yet one more technical account of the disastrous mission to Medes. If he still possessed the ability, he would have thrown up, reading detailed accounts of charred and heat tortured human bodies that littered the ground.

"Funny, that's what I was thinking too," Ed said tiredly. He folded his arms over the table in front of him and put his head down. His voice, muffled against his sleeve, "I think I'm going to have nightmares."

"Do you think the Colonel does?"

"Probably."

His brother was hiding the same fear that was creeping through him, Al thought. They had been staring at every piece of paper Lt. Col. Hughes could dig up on Medes and more specifically Odessa Rhodes. He silently admitted to himself his reasons were rather selfish. Sure, he wanted to help stop this woman before she hurt anyone else, but at the same time, if she knew Dr. Marcoh…

Of course, he and Ed were not really going to try and stop her. He figured the Lt. Colonel would make sure not to endanger them needlessly.

Closing the book in front of him, he did not want to read any more about the rebellion, or detailed, soulless reports on how so many people died.

Ed sat up and pulled the book Al had been looking at close. "There's a reason no one wants to talk about it." He paused and flipped through a few pages. "I would want to forget that place too after just reading about it." He pressed a finger to the text and then read out loud, "Official casualties: twelve soldiers killed, nine wounded, including one officer. Indeterminate amount of Ishbalan Hareti rebels, likely about three hundred. Primarily women and children." He growled. "There was an explosion, their temple was loaded with ammunition and it exploded leveling the whole town. One guess who blew it up."

"It can't all be so simple," Al thought as he leaned back. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the newspaper Hughes had left behind when he had checked for any news stories on the previous night's attack. The icy chill of fear flooded through him as he snatched it up. "Brother!"


	19. Heavy Burdens

**SeekerAstria** - I am glad that you are truly enjoying the story. I find Mustanf and his people and the Ishbal story probably more interesting than the Elrics, at least story wise. **Marz1** - Nope, Gracia and Elisa are perfectly safe back in Central. **Barbara** - Cliffhangers are good. ;) Thanks for still reading after the long pause. **Reius Devirix** - LOL I don't usually mean to leave readers in such terrible predicaments.

Thank you for the kind replies, I do appreciate them.

* * *

**Heavy Burdens**

"Sir," a timid sounding nurse said, stopping Hughes in the middle of one of the wide hospital corridors. Her voice, low as it seemed to echo off the painful sterility of it all. She glanced about nervously and Hughes noted she could not be more than eighteen or nineteen. "Visiting hours ended, well, hours ago. I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to leave until tomorrow."

He flashed her his trademark grin. "Sorry, but unless you plan on physically dragging me out, you'll just have to humor me for a little while." Straightening, he placed his right hand over his heart and held his left up. "I solemnly swear to be quiet and respectful of the late hour."

"But, sir—"

"No buts about it!" The light mood faded as a more serious one crept over his features. Adjusting his glasses slightly, he paused to look her over. He did not envy her spot, but she would just have to understand, some rules were made to be broken. Speaking in a more serious tone, he said, "I am a very determined and resourceful man. I have also suffered quite a few long days recently and I am tired and a bit ill-tempered. My friend is recovering here and I would like to see him before I pass out from exhaustion. Are we understanding each other?"

"But—"

"What did I say?" Hughes smiled. "If you must pull rank on me, call General Grumman, I'm sure he'll enjoy having his evening disrupted." He did not wait for her to respond, instead, he turned sharply and continued on toward the private rooms. The truth was, he did not want to make a scene, but if he had too, he would. He had been so busy with the investigation, the ongoing search and dealing with the Elrics that other than phone updates every few hours, he had not been in to check on Roy.

Though he had spent most of the night lightly dozing in a still, tall-backed wooden chair once Roy had been put in a private room but his friend had not awaken when he was forced to leave early to take care of things.

He seriously doubted that Roy would be awake at this hour, but he knew he had to check up on him. If the roles had been reversed, Roy would have stupidly dropped everything and been there for him.

Around the corner he spied Lt. Breda sitting on a bench. The red haired man leapt to his feet and snapped to attention with a sharp salute but Hughes did not slow, he just waved his hand, indicating he was not concerned with formality.

He smiled inwardly, feeling a little jealous of the loyalty of Roy's subordinates.

Only a short distance away, he found Falman standing ramrod straight, guarding a closed door.

"Sir," the Warrant Officer said softly as Hughes approached. "It's been quiet."

"Good." After only a slight hesitation to mentally brace himself, Hughes pushed the door open and stepped inside. Quickly closing the door behind him, he paused long enough to allow his eyes to adjust to the low lighting. The room was deceptively calm. After a moment, he could easily hear the steady inhale and exhale of breaths.

As he crossed the small room, he noted the large window that provided much of the light during the day but was only an obsidian mirror. Hughes grimaced at his own appearance.

He found the stool that was already pulled alongside the bed. Briefly wondering who had been perched there but he easily suspected who it had been. Lieutenant Hawkeye had taken the whole attack quite hard, even though he could see it was hardly a situation she could have helped.

Regardless of her former title, Odessa Rhodes was the devil incarnate. She might think herself innocent, a victim of circumstances, but he had read enough about her to know that was not entirely true. Hirada and his people would have been trouble at Medes, but they would not have been so completely overwhelming had it not been for her guidance. Same with the raids on the supply trains where dozens of soldiers were killed.

Perching on the stool, he just sat there quietly studying the not so relaxed features of his friend. Roy's brows were furrowed and his mouth tightened into a grimace.

"Do you need something for pain?" he asked.

"Not time yet," Roy answered but did not open his eyes to look at the other man. He sighed heavily but winced again as he raised his right hand and lightly pressed it to his chest. "Wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to breathe." His left arm, the deep cuts sewn together and bound laid at his side, resting above the covers pulled midway up his bare chest save for the bandages and wrappings that protected his wounded side and broken ribs.

Turning his gaze toward the window, Maes stared out for a time. It was almost completely dark except for a sliver of moon, hidden behind the cloud cover. "You damned fool," he growled.

"Tell me something I don't know," came a whisper.

Hughes could not help the grin that spread across his face. "You never listen. You're going to get yourself killed one of these days and then where would we be?" He leaned back on the stool. "You should have taken more security than Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"I wouldn't have taken her if I had a choice." He groaned softly and shifted uncomfortably.

The smile faded as a twinge of anger bit into him. "As I suspected." He wanted to punch his dear friend for his arrogance and stupidity. Instead, he calmly reached to his side and undid the holster, pulling the sidearm from it. He paused to study the weapon, which to be honest, he could not remember the last time he had fired it. He liked quieter things like his knives. Setting the pistol carefully on the side table, he stared at it a moment, then looked to his friend. "There are easier ways to kill yourself."

Roy frowned, opening his eyes slightly. The dark depths shifted to look at the gun on the table. "That was not my intent," he said darkly. Shifting his gaze up to the ceiling, he added, "But it is my mess." Mirthless laughter followed by a pained wince. His voice was soft. "How many dozen has she killed on her way here?" A beat. "How many hundreds died in Medes?"

"That was war."

"That excuse doesn't cut it." After a bit of drawn out silence, Roy laughed, but quickly grimaced, pressing a hand to his chest again. "If nothing else, these most recent deaths are my fault. I should have made sure she was dead."

"And how were you planning on that? By sifting through the ashes of Medes, trying to identify her from one charred skull to the next?" The deep sigh Roy gave bit. Hughes frowned. "The best military intelligence declared her dead."

"That's a contradiction in terms."

"Hey, I resemble that remark," came an offended reply as Hughes folded his arms across his chest and stared off toward the window. "The fact that anyone at all walked away from Medes alive is—"

"A miracle."

"Good leadership." He hunched back over, balancing himself on the stool. "Roy, it was a bad situation, I read the reports. Hell, it was a suicide mission Grand sent you on. They knew that Rhodes wasn't there alone. They knew a very organized, very pissed group of Ishbalan exiles were there. They knew what Hirada and his people were capable of." He met Roy's knowing look. "Human artillery, that's all. Grand didn't expect anyone to come back, let alone you dragging most of your people along. You must have pissed him off big time to get sent."

"Soham, he let all of his people die and still got promoted."

"Soham was an evil bastard and deserved to die," Hughes said softly.

"Careful."

"What? You agree with me." He adjusted his glasses slightly. "He's the one who rushed in, high for the glory of taking out the traitor. He ignored the warnings. You know it. I know it, and I wasn't even there."

"She's endangering my people," Roy whispered as his eyes drifted closed.

Soft laughter. He did not want to wake his friend. "Have a little faith in your people and don't take the burden all on yourself."

* * *

**Where Sleeping Dogs of the Military Lie**

The cavernous hospital corridors echoed loudly with Hughes' brisk footsteps. He knew if he had sat there too long on that hard little stool, he'd have fallen asleep and landed face first in Roy's broken ribs.

Then he would have ended up hospitalized, perhaps even in traction. Yeah, that would be real good.

Stealing out a side door, he planned to cut across the main lawn that was the center of Eastern Headquarters' main campus. It would get him to the archives where the Elrics were studying.

Roy would have his head if he knew that he had conscripted the brothers to help, but it was necessary. Yes, they were children and though he did not like it, he did not trust Rhodes to stop with just Roy. There were other non-officer deaths, other alchemists that had been killed. The boys had already faced her once and did not fair nearly as well as he would have wished. Had she not been intent on running away, it could have been worse.

There was no harm in educating them. It would be far worse to leave them blind and risk another confrontation. They were in the middle of it and he could not deny that fact.

He pushed the door open and stepped into the crisp night air. Jogging down the steps, he started across the parking lot. Almost instantly, the pricking of hairs on the back of his neck brought him to a wary stop. Turning slowly, he stared toward a pool of light from a streetlamp at the edge of the pavement. "So at last, we meet," he said coolly as he slipped one of the daggers from the hidden place in his uniform.

"The air around you is not so foul," Odessa Rhodes hissed from behind. "You are not an alchemist."

"Nope. That was never my thing." He turned with a grin. "I'm more of a paper pusher myself." Under the layers that made up Ishbalan clothing, he could see the bandages creeping up the side of her neck and down her arm. Roy did get her after all.

"Yet you are a dog of the military, you support these murderers."

Hughes nodded toward the hospital. "So are they. Are you going to kill them too?"

Her expression darkened. "Bastard!" she cried out as she dropped to the ground and pressed her tattooed palms to it. The ground exploded as shards of glass reached up from the ground, racing at the tall man.

Dodging the initial onslaught, Hughes lost his footing as the ground broke up around him. Shards ripped into his uniform and tore several deep gashes in his right thigh. As he stumbled out of balance, he launched the blade toward her.

With casual control of her alchemic powers, Rhodes created a shield that enveloped the blade before it could strike its target.

Reaching to his side, he fumbled for his sidearm but found the holster empty. "Damn," he hissed as he quickly changed course of thought and went for another knife.

Launching the blade, a picture of Gracia and Elicia slipped from a pocket and fell to the ground but he did not pause to retrieve it as he scrambled to his feet but was abruptly knocked down by a blow to his chest. Instinctively, he brought his hand up, pressing to his pained sternum, certain to find hole clear through him. The instant the initial panic fled and he realized he was fine, he found Rhodes standing nearby, the picture of his wife and child held in her hand.

Hughes' breaths came ragged and shallow, though he had not been stabbed, he was certain there was a cracked or broken rib among the pain that radiated through his torso. Now he and Roy could commiserate. He pressed a hand protectively in front as he waited his fate.

"They are beautiful," Rhodes said, holding the picture closely. "They should not suffer the pain of loss." Allowing the photo to fall from her hand, it floated in the breeze before catching on a jagged glass outcropping. "You should be more careful, _Lt. Colonel_ and chose your friends more wisely." She turned to walk away but paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Tell your Colonel, I want him and will kill anyone that tries to get between us."

Hughes gripped his bleeding leg as he watched her walk away. He grabbed the last blade in his possession. "I can't let you do that!" Even as the blade left his hand, he knew it was a futile effort.

Rhodes reacted furiously, the blade thrown off track by an explosion of shards. He flinched away but instead of the pain of being torn apart, all he heard was the clang of glass breaking apart against metal.

Twisting, all he saw the large back of an armored body. "Al?"

"Stay back," the youthful voice warned.

"Rhodes!" Ed growled as he came flying out of the shadows. Energy erupted as he clapped his hands together and the earth twisted and formed up into a long spear.

The youth bound, stabbing down, determined to take her out.

With equal determination and swiftness, Rhodes reacted creating a wave of glass, shielding her from the attack. As Ed came down, he reached out, turning the glass into water that splashed down over her like a flood. She screamed and hit the ground.

Ed stabbed at her, determined to pin her to the ground but his eagerness to keep her alive was his weakness. Rhodes grabbed the spear and even as she moved, the wooden staff shattered into a thousand flower petals that blew in the breeze.

"I have no interest in you, boy!" she snarled as she retreated. Pedals blew across the pavement.

"Where is Nara and Emma?" Ed roared as he slammed his hands to the ground, creating a wall that blocked Rhodes's escape. "I know you took them." Rage boiled through his system mingling with guilt. It was because he and Al knew Nara that she and her daughter were kidnapped.

No one was going to get hurt because of him.

Rhodes fell against the wall Ed had created, exhaustion clinging to her features. "But she's so helpful, full of interesting information."

"You witch!" Ed roared as he lashed out but Rhodes was quicker. A column of glass ripped from the cement, slamming into Ed and sending him flying. "Stay out of my way, children," Rhodes warned before vanishing into the shadows.


	20. Moments in Transition

Darkpit - I take it you are enjoying it? Reius Devirix - LOL, there will be another showdown, but first Roy has to get out of the hospital. That may be a trial in and of itself.

Thanks for the reply!

* * *

**Moments in Transition**

Hawkeye stood straight and firm as she reached out and knocked on the door to the Colonel's private hospital room. She waited, wondering if she had knocked too softly. Retreating slightly, she wondered where Havoc and Fury had got off too.

From inside the room, she heard a muffled, but clearly frustrated growl. Firming up her resolve, she sighed and opened the door.

The sight that awaited her nearly made her fall over.

Her amber eyes glittered in silent horror as she watched the Colonel struggle to button up his white dress shirt. The open front revealed the thick wrappings entwining his torso. Bandages protected his cut arm, keeping it at a slight bend. "Colonel?" she asked somewhat startled but not entirely surprised.

"Don't just stand there," he barked. "Help me." He looked up, clearly frustrated. "I can't bend my arm enough to get to the top buttons."

She frowned and closed the door behind her. "You are supposed to be resting. You're in no condition to be getting dressed."

"I will not lie around as my people are targeted." He winced slightly as he moved to the next button, fingers fumbling.

Stalking across the room, she stopped in front of him without bothering to mask her unhappiness there was no point. The Colonel would do as he would do; it was her job to help him. Or at least keep him from hurting himself worse.

Gently pulling his hands away, she started to close the buttons. "What do you think you will accomplish by going back to work like this?"

He said nothing and the truth was, for her, he did not need too. She knew him too well and knew his stubborn streak, his pride and his honor would not allow him to sit back while Odessa Rhodes was still out there. Hughes had demanded to keep the attack on him the night before quiet, but as expected, it had gotten back to the Colonel.

Briefly, she wondered where the fresh uniform had come from but she could think of at least four potentially guilty parties. Stepping close to the bed, she picked up the fresh jacket—crisp and blue. Moving around his back, she nudged his left hand and held the sleeve open making it easy for him to slip his wounded arm into. Easing the other sleeve on, she was careful as she pulled the material up, over his shoulders.

Remaining to his back, she glanced to the bed and spied a sling tossed across the white sheets. "You're not going to be completely stubborn and refuse to wear the sling, right?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really." Just as she gathered herself and started to step around, the Colonel turned.

"Then I suppose I have no choice." His right hand was pressed his left side.

"You could lay back down."

"No."

Hawkeye frowned and pushed his hand down and then closed the buttons on the front of the jacket, ever studious not to tug or lay too much undo pressure on his wounds. She took a moment to adjust the cord and to straighten the various decorations across his chest because she knew he would before facing the public.

A quick glance at the foot of the bed and she saw the white gloves with the red transmutation circle sewn into them. Reaching for them, a wild thought fluttered through her mind. She wanted to lightly punch his side. That would lay him out for another day and give him a chance to recover. Her fingers curled together into a fist.

Before she could put her plan into action, she came to her senses. Sighing softly, she picked up the gloves, fingering the coarse material at the fingertips.

When she turned back, the Colonel was holding his side again. His eyes were closed and his brows were knitted together. "I'm not going to carry you if you pass out," she said.

"I carried you."

"Dragged. My boots were all scuffed up."

"I had a piece of glass in my side," Mustang growled. Huffing, he added, "Besides, you are heavy."

"Sir!"

The Colonel blinked at her a few times and then offered a thin smile. "Well, at least you're not scowling like you have been."

Almost instantly, she felt the warmth of a flush rush to her cheeks as she roughly handed him the left glove.

With some difficulty, he managed to pull it on. While adjusting the fit, he said, "Purple is not you're color."

"Sir?"

He motioned toward the side of her face where the Ishbalan had hit her. Self-consciously, she pressed a palm to her still swollen face. "I am sorry, sir," she said formally. "It was my responsibility. I should have been more prepare—"

"Don't be ridiculous."

The sharp tone made her flinch and look away. Perhaps more startling was the brush of callused fingertips against the tender flesh around her eye.

"You should be more careful."

A frown tugged at Hawkeye's lips as she pushed the other glove toward him. "I should say the same of you."

"You are never going to let this go, are you?" he chuckled but it was clear he quickly regretted it and pressed his hand to his chest. "Just don't make me laugh for a while," he whispered.

"Yes, sir."

Catching the pain in his dark eyes, she looked away as he finished pulling his other glove on. From the bed she picked up the black sling. There was little question in her mind that the Colonel had requested black so it would not stand out against his dark uniform.

Loosening the straps, she slipped it over his neck and then carefully cradled his left arm in it as she adjusted the straps until his arm was gently cradled against his chest.

She looked up to meet his gaze but found his eyes closed, his brows knitted together in quiet concentration. There were beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. Without even thinking, she fished out a handkerchief from he pocket and dabbed the perspiration away.

"I am fine."

It would have taken an even harder blow to the head to make her believe that, but she would not voice her concerns.

Motioning him to the stool, the one she had spent a good part of the previous day perched on, she said, "Why don't you rest and I'll see that a car is brought up to the side doors." Knowing the Colonel as she did, she knew it would be a cold day in hell before he let them wheel him out of the hospital in a wheelchair.

With only a bit of reluctance, he acquiesced and walked stiffly to the stool. His entire body seemed to sink from exhaustion though his back remained straight, as if still at attention.

"I will be back shortly." Relieved, she excused herself and started for the door. Just as she reached for the handle, she was stopped by two simple words.

"Thank you."

* * *

**Following**

_The Past_

The winds howled and buffeted the semi permanent structure of the camp hospital. The building seemed to shudder under the gale, making the hanging lights swing slightly overhead.

Riza Hawkeye looked up from the chair she had spent the last few hours in and watched a nearby light flicker. The wails beyond the walls only seemed to intensify that ragged feeling that had wrapped itself so completely around her being.

Nothing had affected her so completely as that mess known as Medes. Only two days out, she was still shaken. Most seemed to understand just how bad it had been and given the survivors some time off and light duty assignments.

She had been in the field plenty over the ten months since arriving, but this last mission…

Staring at her hands, gripping a pile of letters, she could see the slight tremble that still remained. It was fading. Still, she had never shaken so much except after that first time. "It's getting worse," she said softly of the storm, trying desperately to brush off those memories of things that could not be changed.

In a week, she would be back out in one of the patrols, or as protection for another State Alchemist. She prayed her hands would not shake then. Reaching up, she brushed her fingers across her still swollen forehead. She was lucky only to be bruised and trembling. Her friends got it much worse than she did.

Walberton was dead and Havoc would be out for some time.

She looked to her sleeping friend in the bed next to where she was seated. Havoc's chest and shoulder were bound in white wrappings. It had taken surgery to get all the shrapnel and stop the bleeding, but they said he would recover.

Crisp in her mind's eye, she could still see the Major, whom she could have killed moments before had there been bullets in her gun, crawl down the mountain of debris, check on the wounded and then help Havoc up, urging the men to help the wounded and head for fresher air and hopefully a working vehicle.

A small smile tugged at her lips, then faded as she realized in two days, Havoc would be shipped back to Central for therapy and recovery.

The tent had been lonely with just her. The cots made up as both Walberton and Havoc's belongings had been gathered up, the latter to travel back to Central with him. She suspected she would get stuck with a couple of green recruits fresh from the academy.

Staring down at the letters in her grip, she tried to will her hand still. For a moment, it worked, then the slight tremor returned. Her nerves were shot, she silently mused. She just needed to rest and she would be all right she mentally repeated for the hundredth time that day. So far, the mantra had not helped. Another powerful gust seemed to rattle the building to its foundation. She dreaded having to go out into the chill evening wind, but knew the nurses would soon chase her out.

Drawing the letters close, she held onto them as if the wind would tear through the hospital and blow them away. The smell of flowers lingering in the paper, teased her senses as she took in the fading fragrance. The letter was from her mother. As usual it was filled with local news highlighted with notes about which of her childhood friends had another child, it was her mother's subtle way of hinting that she wanted grandchildren. The letter was also peppered with the usual questions, asking how she was, if she was eating enough and if she had seen her grandfather lately. Her mother did not quite understand that the front lines of the Ishbal rebellion were far from the relative safety of Eastern HQ.

Maybe it was better that way. The woman worried enough as it was. Staring at the letter, she wondered how she was going to reply. There was doubt that she could hide the trauma of the last few days even in written words. The reply would definitely have to wait until the trembling stopped. She did not want her handwriting broken and jagged.

"Hey," came a quiet whisper.

Hawkeye brightened. "Hey."

Havoc offered a thin smile and then his blue eyes searched his surroundings. "I need a cigarette."

"You can't have one in here."

"I wasn't going to light it." He smiled and looked down across his chest. "Not that I easily could."

Without a word, she straightened in the chair and twisted, scanning the room. The only nurse she saw was busy writing notes on a chart further down the room. Deciding the coast was clear, she pulled open a bedside table drawer and fished through Havoc's belongs until she found the paper carton. It crinkled in her grip as she drew out a single, white stick and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said, sounding almost relieved.

"You're going to get me banned from here."

Hanging the stick off his lower lip, the blond haired man smiled and seemed to sink back into the pillow. "Now just hand me my lighter."

"No."

"You're no fun."

"Someone has to be sensible here," she said as she folded up the letters and stuffed them into her blue jacket. Rising from the chair, she pulled her long coat on. "I probably should be going. You need your rest." She smiled. "And I want to avoid the nursing staff's wrath."

Havoc laughed. "Sure." Just as she started to walk away, he reached out and grabbed her arm. "Hey, have you seen our illustrious Major?"

The question caught her. "Not since the other day. He came by to check on everyone. You were asleep."

A more serious look glossed his features. "Tell him thanks for me, if I don't get a chance to before shipping out."

"Sure." She adjusted her coat. "I'll check on you in the morning. Take it easy."

She left quietly, hoping the nurses would bar her from visiting again tomorrow when they catch him with the cigarette.

The strong winds, filled with sand, slammed into her nearly knocking her from her feet. She struggled for footing even as she tugged at her coat, drawing the collar high around her face while stepping into the gale. Growling softly, she raced through the dusty streets carved between various tents and buildings, eager to find shelter in her empty tent. She winced and closed her eyes, trying to shield them from the coarse grains that flew about like tiny projectiles. Running with her head down, she was oblivious to obstacle that lay ahead.

A startled scream tore from her as she slammed into something solid. The wind compounded the moment and she almost imagined being blown like a tumbleweed through the camp until something—_someone_—grabbed her arm.

Her voice was muffled under her hand and coat. "Lieutenant?" she asked.

Hughes looked her over even as he held his hand over his eyes, shielding them from the weather. "Hawkeye, right?"

"Yes, Sir!" she started to salute but the wind made it difficult.

"You were one of the lucky ones, I see," he said loud enough to be heard over the howl of the wind.

"Or unlucky depending on your point of view."

"I guess you are right about that."

Hawkeye glanced about. "Sir?"

"Yes?" While still holding her arm, he motioned and pulled her close to one of the buildings where the wind was not so violent.

She braced herself, already taking a step in a direction she had not planned too. "Have you seen Major Mustang?" Of course he had, she was certain. The man saw the orders coming down the line and was, from what she had seen, Mustang's friend. Although, it was strange, since she had not seen the alchemists and the regular soldiers intermingle much except where duty demanded.

"Roy, I mean the Major may not have returned yet from today's mission."

"Mission?"

Through the wind, Hughes' voice was barely heard, "No rest for the weary."

"I see."

Hughes pulled the hood of his coat low, sheltering his face in shadows.

Hawkeye looked at him a moment, noting his intense look, and then tried to explain, "I just wanted to—"

"It's not any of my business," he interrupted and waved a hand between them. "The brass want to end this thing hard and fast, they don't give the alchemists much rest. If you do find him, don't expect much conversation, okay?"

"Yes, sir." She watched as the tall man rushed off down the street.

For a short time, she wandered about the camp but found few people braving the wind and sand that blasted every surface and being in its path. Over the wind she caught a whiff of stale coffee and the mix of whatever was being cooked for the late shifters in the mess hall. The smell only made her stomach turn.

It was easy to give up for the evening, not that she truly understood why she had embarked on such an expedition.

No, that was not true, she wanted to thank him for Havoc.

Admittedly, there was more to it though. She could still see herself, just days earlier, turning. The memory was disconnected from her body, as if she were watching from someone else's point of view. She had been functioning on pure instinct, heightened by an adrenaline surge. The touch of the trigger under her finger as she squeezed.

_click_

_click_

That look of _disappointment_ in the Major's eyes still haunted her.

No, certainly she had misinterpreted in the rush of the moment. She had a concussion and was shook up. It would be so easy to read more into it than there was.

It was stress, or madness. For two days, she had been waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Certainly her firing on a superior officer—bullets or not—deserved some sort of reprimand, but strangely the event had been neglected in the official reports.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew her attention and she retreated slightly as she turned to face the figure that had approached. It took only a fraction of a second to recognize the man in the pale lights swinging from tall posts situated at most crossings throughout the camp.

It was as if she were caught in a flashback. Mustang stood there silently lit by the electric overhead glow. His blue uniform and gloves were black with ash. The powder only seemed to heighten dark circles around weary eyes.

"Major?"

Mustang smiled as he watched her snap to attention. "No gun this time, Sergeant?" he asked. Stepping close—shoulder to shoulder—he paused and looked at her. "Next time, make sure you have bullets when you fire on me."

She had heard some of the younger nurses gossiping and giggling happily about him. All it took was a smile and they lost all sense of propriety. Perhaps she would have too had they crossed paths far from the front lines of the Ishbal Rebellion.

"It was a mistake, Sir. I—"

"Nothing to apologize for." The smile never reached his eyes.

"Why was I not reported for my recklessness?"

An absent shrug of broad shoulders. "I must have forgotten to mention it." With that, he walked away.

She twisted to watch him head toward the mess hall.

After a short distance, the Major turned. "Are you just going to stand there in the wind, or would you like some tea?"

"Sir?"

"Are you coming with me?"


	21. Payback

**Reius Devirix**—The past part is a separate chapter, I just forgot to put the horizontal rule in. I fixed it though. **Marz1**—More Ed and Al are in this post somewhere. **Roaming Fool**—Thanks! Yes, I know it could have been done with a better transition but from experience in posting stories in this stilted, serialized (with long gaps between posts) format I find I get a less confused replies if I cam less subtle. **Darkpit**—Hawkeye is fun to write and thanks. **BarbaraA**—Thanks so much. Glad you are enjoying it.

* * *

**  
Payback**

_The Present_

The wooden desk chair provided no comfort as Mustang shifted painfully in the seat. To his right, at the edge of his vision he caught the blue of Hawkeye's uniform. He did not want to meet her gaze, though he could almost feel the heat of it boring through him.

Staring tiredly at the stack of papers neatly situated in the center of his desk that he had left incomplete several days earlier, he realized that the pile had grown, perhaps even tripled in size. Certainly there had to be a rule that said paperwork could not continue to accumulate when one was hospitalized. Especially when it was hard enough to focus on during normal days.

Looking toward Hawkeye all he got was a pen shoved toward him. "It wouldn't have been so bad had you completed everything from the other day."

"Shouldn't I be taking it easy?" he growled and snatched the pen from her hand.

"Shouldn't you still be in the hospital?"

With his good hand, he roughly shifted through them, disrupting the nice, orderly stack that Hawkeye had made. He devilishly thought about mixing the pile up and seeing how long it would take her to reorganize it, but he did not have the energy.

And he hurt too much.

Sighing loudly, then regretting it, he winced and pressed his hand to the sling. He was beginning to regret his stubbornness. "Too bad it was my left arm and not my right," he said half-heartedly joking.

"That's not funny, sir," Hawkeye replied, the irritation in her voice was clear. He hated that particular shade of irritation. Half the time he had no clue what he had done to cause it.

Except this time, he was pretty certain he knew.

Brushing the thought off, he said sternly, "I want to see Hughes and the Elric brothers in my office now."

"Yes, sir," Hawkeye immediately answered before heading to the door.

Once she had stepped out, he reached under the sling and pressed a hand to his uniformed side. This definitely was not one of his brighter moments but at this point, he was not going to back down.

He could not.

A light rapping on the door that separated his office from the staff room drew his attention. Straightening, he pushed back the pain that he was positive had crept across his features. Hawkeye would not say anything about his misery, but he was sure it had already gone around the table three times thanks to Havoc.

He dully wondered what the stakes were in the office bet.

"Enter."

The door opened a crack, then a little farther. Three heads peeked in through an opening barely wide enough for their faces. Havoc, Breda and Falman looked in.

"Back to work so soon?" Breda asked, looking a little disappointed.

He must have lost the bet, Mustang thought.

Havoc rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you should be up and around so quick? You don't look to good."

Mustang shifted through the papers, irritated with the attention. "I am fine."

"If you say so, Chief," Havoc added before the door was pulled closed and the three jokers vanished.

"I am fine," he repeated to the empty office.

On the other side of the door Havoc flopped back in his chair all the while stealing a quick glance toward the door. Brightening, he looked at the other two men. "Pay up," came the cheerful demand as he slapped his hand down on the desk.

Breda and Falman dug through their pockets pulling out wadded bills.

"I wouldn't have thought it possible," Falman said sounding rather surprised.

"I would have given him another day," Breda grumbled as he slid 10,000 sen Havoc's way. "I hope you choke on it."

"Thank you, gentlemen, it was a pleasure doing business with you," Havoc said with a smile as he gathered up the money. "I'll use it well. I have a date tomorrow night."

Breda laughed. "Maybe we should take bets on how long it will take Havoc to lose this girl to the Colonel."

Havoc nearly swallowed his cigarette.

"Are you still seeing Eugenie?" Falman asked.

"Margaret," he replied with a huff, his good humor having slipped away. Eugenie had decided she just wanted to be friends since she was not ready to settle down with any one guy just yet.

The main door opened and Hawkeye walked in. She stopped and stared at the three men and the money on the table. "Office bets are rather inappropriate, don't you think?" she asked as she closed the door behind her.

Havoc laughed. "You're just sore you lost. Pay up."

Sighing, she approached where he was sitting and retrieved a couple of neatly folded sens from her pocket. She held the bills just out of his reach. Tapping her chin thoughtfully, she said, "I seem to remember you owing me 10,000 from the last bet. Something about whether Breda would—"

"Let's call it even," Havoc said quickly.

"Would Breda do what?" the thick waisted 2nd Lieutenant asked from the other end of the desks.

"Sounds good," Hawkeye said as she pocketed the money again.

"Oh, you're good," Falman whispered.

"Would I do what?" Breda asked again.

The tall Warrant Officer went on, "Couldn't you have threatened the Colonel into getting some rest?"

"The Colonel feels his place is here," she said diplomatically.

"And more so with every step up the political ladder," came Havoc's response. He pocketed the money he had been able to hold onto and glanced about. "Hey, where's Fury? He owes me too."

Exchanging glances and then looking to the empty desk Breda and Falman shrugged.

"Wasn't he at the hospital this morning?" the red haired man asked.

Thinking about it for a moment, and then shaking his head, Falman said, "No. I don't remember seeing him. He left about midnight last night. He looked like he would fall asleep where he was standing."

"I didn't see him this morning either," Hawkeye added.

"Maybe he's at the hospital, wondering where everyone is," Breda said as he stood up. "I'll go check."

"Yeah, that's probably it," Havoc replied but strangely felt a little uneasy. It was not like the little guy to go missing like that, especially not with a crazy woman and her henchmen bent on revenge on the loose.

* * *

**Collateral Damage**

"Wow, what did you do to hack her off?" Hughes asked as he entered the Colonel's office without bothering to knock.

"Rhodes—"

"I was talking about Lt. Hawkeye."

Mustang just glared at him.

Okay, so maybe that was not the best opening. He walked casually across the room, well as casually as possible with a couple dozen stitches in his thigh and sank to one of the chairs before the desk. "Actually, I was on my way over to the hospital."

"Or from it."

Roy was mad.

The smile slipped from Hughes' face. "You heard."

Slapping his right hand down on the desk and sending papers swirling in a flurry, Mustang was on his feet. "Did you think you were going to hide something like that from me?"

"Settle down," Hughes said motioning the other man to sit. "It wasn't that bad." Okay, maybe it was, but he certainly was not going to tell Roy that. No way. "Besides, Ed and Al—"

"Hughes."

Straightening in his seat, he shot his friend a sharp look. "This is Eastern, there aren't exactly a lot in the way of in house alchemists. You, Fullmetal and a couple of science and medical, who aren't exactly going to challenge Rhodes. You're out of commission and we've got slingshots at our disposal."

"It's not your place to decide—"

"They're in it, you and I both know that. As long as Ed thinks she has some information on the Philosopher's stone, then he's going to be in the thick of it. Besides," he paused. "I guess a woman and girl are missing that the boys' know. It seems Rhodes may be responsible."

"Kidnapping isn't her style," Mustang said.

Hughes watched silently as his friend struggled with the pain before forcing it behind a mask of cool even if telltale beads of sweat glistened on his brow. He wavered slightly, leaning heavily against his good hand that was planted firmly on the desk. "Sit down before you fall down, Roy."

From the anteroom door, Hawkeye stepped in. A look of quiet frustration lit her features. "Sir, the Elrics are on their way."

Mustang nodded then sank back to his chair, propping his chin up with his hand.

Hughes sighed and offered Hawkeye a glance. "Couldn't you have—"

"The Colonel will do as the Colonel will do," she said and left the room.

"You have broken her spirit." Trying to lighten the mood, Hughes continued, "You know I've come to the conclusion you would drive any sane woman mad."

"Hughes."

"It will make finding you a wife that much more—"

_snap!_

"Hey!" Hughes cried out as he ducked for cover. "Temper temper!"

Mustang pushed the paperwork roughly out of the way allowing the stack to topple and slide across his desk. He rubbed his forehead tiredly.

The humor Hughes had tried to inject slipped away. He quietly noted that his friend's color was off, way off and wondered how long before the injuries won out. "We're going to get her."

"She pops out of no where, attacks and injures my people. Kidnaps a mother and her child," the words drifted into silence for a moment. "And yet, you say it so confidently."

He caught the look that crossed Roy's face. _What are you thinking?_ He inwardly wondered. "How else am I supposed to say it?"

"She won't give up."

"And neither will we."

The main door opened and Hawkeye appeared. "Ed and Al."

Behind her appeared the hulking figure of Alphonse Elric and a brief glint of red coat.

Smirking, Mustang, sounding like his old self, said, "I thought you said Ed and Al." He laughed. "I just see Al."

Instantly, Ed started screaming as the younger Elric struggled to hold on to the writhing, furious figure. "Brother," Al said.

"Who are you calling as small as a bug that can be squished underfoot!" Ed raged.

"Ed. Please, stop!"

The blond haired youth pulled away and stood there, heaving. "I have more important things to be doing than hanging around here."

"Yes, the woman and girl."

"Their names are Nara and Emma," Ed said sharply.

Unfazed, Mustang asked, "How do you know them?"

Hughes eyed his friend carefully.

"Nara works at Ed's favorite noodle stand in the market. Not too far from where they are doing all that construction," Al happily chirped. "Ed likes to go early to beat the crowds and see Nara."

Ed blushed. "You didn't have to tell him that," he whispered.

After shifting to face the brothers, Hughes adjusted his glasses slightly. "Down by the Remnant where that old temple is? That's where your first confrontation with Rhodes was?"

"Yeah," Ed said looking curiously back.

Folding her arms across her chest, Hawkeye shook her head slightly. "Did she take them because of Ed and Al or were they targets before that?"

"Nara would know the marketplace well," Hughes said but stopped at the sound of shuffling papers. He looked back toward the desk where Mustang was flipping through a stack of requests.

Oh damn.

"As a dog of the military," the Colonel began, pausing only long enough to eye Ed, "you are expected to do missions as requested." He picked up the train schedule, which was always close by and looked it over. Showing no emotion, he signed several sheets and slid it across his desk. Without word, Hawkeye quickly crossed the room and picked up the papers as he continued, "They are having issues with contaminated well water believed to be caused by the local mines. It is your job to inspect the—"

"No way!" Ed snapped. "You aren't sending me away!"

"Ed," Hughes said but the young man breezed passed him, storming up to Mustang's desk.

The furious youth pressed his hands to the desk. "What, you couldn't handle her so you think I can't?"

"Ed," Hawkeye said sternly.

"The train leaves in two hours for Rush City, then you'll just be a day's walk from Thesden. You will be on that train," Mustang said evenly, as if unaware of Ed's outburst.

"I'm not some sort of mindless dog that follows orders without question and destroys anyone who gets in the way of his promotion. I won't let Nara and Emma be hurt because of me. I'm not like you," he snarled.

Hawkeye roughly shoved the papers toward Ed. "Sir, your orders."

The papers went ignored as Ed glared at the Colonel. From the relative safety of the settee, Hughes watched as the two squared off.

"You have two hours, I suggest you start packing," Mustang said as he shifted through more paperwork. He did not meet Ed's fierce stare.

"I read the reports," Ed hissed. "Collateral damage. That's what they called all the women and children at Medes. Nara and Emma aren't collateral damage. You may be able to live with yourself, but I won't be responsible for even two people being hurt because of me." He turned sharply and stormed across the office. When he reached the door, he swung it violently open, sending it crashing against the wall.

Al caught it, stopping it from slamming shut so he could quickly follow. The younger boy's voice could be heard down the hall, "Ed! Ed!"

Still holding the orders, Hawkeye raced after them as Hughes just shook his head. "You're acting stupid again."

"Just see that they get on that train," Mustang growled.

•

"Edward, sir!" Hawkeye called out as she walked briskly down the corridor, crinkling the paper in a tight grip.

Al turned and looked at her, then called to Ed. "Brother, wait."

"What?" Ed fumed as he turned to see Hawkeye approaching. "Oh," he said, his shoulders slumping slightly as he sighed.

The Lieutenant quickly approached and handed him the orders, then promptly slapped him across the face. He howled, pressing a hand to the stinging flesh. Tears quickly reached his eyes.

Hawkeye stood straight at attention, though the hand at her side trembled. "Forgive me, sir, for overstepping the boundaries of my position." Then a little less formally, she said, "Do not speak so freely of events you do not have personal experience with, sir." With that, she turned sharply and started to walk away but hesitated when Ed spoke up.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

* * *

**Casualties of War**

_The Past_

Pots clattered beyond the closed doors in the kitchen area. The canvas walls of the mess hall drew in, billowing like great lungs as violent gusts of wind ripped at the anchors. Hawkeye quietly listened to the distant howl, and wondered if the wind would blow all night, bemoaning its fate.

She glanced around, looking at the few quiet soldiers taking in a very late meal. They seemed oblivious to her and yet, she felt as if she were the center of attention. Brushing the thought off, she pressed her hands to her lap and tried to will the remaining tremble away. It would not look good to jostle hot tea out of the cup. It would say little for her as a sharpshooter if her hands were not steady days after a mission.

Looking across the smooth metal tabletop, she looked to the drink island off to the side. The smell of coffee, long on the burners, mingled with the remains of the last meal. From her vantage point, she could watch the Major prep two mugs of hot tea.

It felt awkward not doing her share and instead just sitting there, waiting for her drink to be delivered by a superior no less. A quick glance about the hall again and she wondered what fanciful rumors would be sparked by this seemingly awkward moment.

Maybe it was a mistake. If she excused herself now, perhaps…

Perhaps she was paranoid.

Looking at the Major, she saw only his back. His uniform, which she was certain had been blue at some point during the day was now entirely black. The darkness seemed to blend into his black hair leaving him looking like little more than a shadow.

Not all that different than after the explosion.

There was no blood this time though, just ash, the remains of buildings and people. He did not seem to be too stricken with that knowledge she silently noted.

Hawkeye really did not know what to make of this man. Before a few days ago, she thought him to be little different than that Kimbley who took great pleasure in blowing things up. They enjoyed their jobs, perhaps enjoyed the power.

Men like that frightened her.

She and so many others woke up in a cold sweat, the faces of those they had killed lingering in their dreams. She never regretted her actions; she did what she did for the Motherland. She did it to protect her comrades and to protect those she loved from the effects of an ever-growing war. But even the best did not relish their duties.

Except him, she thought, watching the Major approach. Tired from being worked without break but she had heard enough to know that he never questioned orders and always carried them out with ruthless efficiency.

Sometimes, the Ishbalans did not even know what was happening, they just glowed bright.

Setting a cup down in front of her, the Major then sank to the bench on the opposite side of the table. "Thank you," she said, offering a grateful smile as she drew the drink close. Under her fingers, against the white porcelain, she could feel ashy grit. "Not a fan of coffee?" she asked.

"It's always burned."

"Maybe a fresh pot—"

"Doesn't change the taste," he said before taking a sip of the steaming liquid. A frown pulled at his features and he set it down. "Even this tastes over done."

Hawkeye took a careful drink of the liquid, letting it linger before swallowing, but thought it tasted fine, a little stale, but not as bad as sometimes. "You must have just returned from the field. I'm surprised you aren't hungry."

Shrugging, he mumbled, "The food is burned."

True, the food was rather bad, but she never thought of it as burned. Taking another drink, she studied him over the rim of her cup. Dark shadows and ash bled together across his eyes. "I see," she said, unsure of how else to respond. Glancing at the serving line where several soldiers, exhausted from a long day were getting their trays filled. From the distance, all seemed well. The only charred smell she picked up was coming off the Major.

Suddenly, he laughed as he set his cup down. A playful glimmer briefly danced in his dark eyes. "Here I invited you for tea and I'm not being very entertaining."

The whole scenario felt awkward. Hawkeye half expected to wake from a dream at any moment. "It's not that important. Really, you're just back from the field. I've had a relatively leisurely day with temporary leave. I slept in, spent time reading old letters from home and then visited with Jean."

"Shot in the shoulder, right?" he said, sounding very aware.

"Yes."

Mustang put the drink down but did not meet her gaze. "How's he doing?"

This man, whom on the surface, she feared had also seemed very contrary to the stories she had heard. After they had all returned from Medes, he had come and checked on each survivor. Men who had never served under him, save for that one day, he made sure were taken care of.

"According to Dr. Rockbell with some rest and therapy, he should recover completely." She smiled, happy the wound that had looked so terrible in the dust-ridden air of Medes was not as bad as it could have been. "They're shipping him out soon, back to Central."

"That's good."

"He says thank you."

Mustang stared quietly at his drink as if he had not heard her.

After a moment, Hawkeye's stare fell to the soot covered gloves that he still wore. She could see the alchemic array stitched into the cloth, though now it was the same color as everything else. Every part of her wanted to ask why he did not rush to clean himself up but she kept the thought imprisoned behind still lips.

"It doesn't really wash away," he said softly as if reading her thoughts. "Well, at least not under the surface. He held a hand out and stared at his open palm. "There's as much on the inside of me as there is on the outside." He smiled. "A sense of balance, in a sick sort of way."

Hawkeye said nothing.

"It is in my clothes and ingrained in my skin. My senses are so clogged that I'll never smell or taste anything but ash again." He drew his hand into a trembling fist. "My lungs are full of smoke and soot. I cannot cough hard enough to get it all out."

He looked so very weary.

"Then why do you do it?" she asked.

Closing his eyes, he shrugged again, his shoulders seeming to slump more than before. "I ask myself that everyday. I swear that I will refuse and walk away but I never do." He eyed her. "You are a shooter, why do you do it?"

"To serve my country."

A smile. "Another idealistic fool drawn into the military machine."

"There are worse fates."

Mustang just looked at her, but she saw only emptiness in his gaze. He raised the cup to his lips but paused and set it back down. "And yet, at this moment, I can't think of any." He sighed heavily, and then coughed, a hand muffling the sound.

Rising from his seat, he tipped his chin toward her. "Maybe next time, I'll be more entertaining. Good night, Sergeant."


	22. Passing of Information

I am sincerely sorry for the long, long wait between chapters. I should be better at getting this posted, it's been done for so long. Thank you to everyone who has been really patient with me and are still reading this.

* * *

**Passing of Information**

The Present

Wincing as the train whistle wailed, Hughes took a step forward on the platform to better see into the open car window where Ed and Al sat. He smiled, even as the red handprint across Ed's cheek turned several shades brighter red. "Boy, she really did smack you." Then a little softer after the whistle had passed, "Although, I can't said I don't blame her."

Ed flushed and pressed a gloved hand over his cheek where Hawkeye had smacked him. He just wanted to pretend nothing had happened but the sting of tender flesh in the shape of a handprint told him he was not going to forget so easy. He should really learn to think before speaking. Of course, he had that internal conversation with himself almost weekly and had yet to learn. "Yeah, I guess, maybe I deserved it."

The whistle blew again as the clatter of links between the train cars pulled taught, echoed through the station. Hughes stepped back as the train started to slowly move.

Quickly sticking his head out the window, Ed asked, "Are you sure you can't talk the Colonel into changing his mind? You don't even know where to begin looking for her."

The car started to pull away from the platform and Hughes walked alongside the window. "I think we know where to start looking."

"You do?" Al asked from inside.

"You saved us a lot of time connecting the missing woman and child to Rhodes. It would be just like her to be hiding down the street in that abandoned temple."

"Abandoned temple," Ed repeated.

"Did I say that? I meant—"

Ed smiled. He did not buy Hughes' suddenly innocent backtracking. "Thank you, Lt. Colonel," he called out, "for seeing us off. I'm sure that'll please Mustang." He saluted and ducked back into the car.

"Be careful!" Hughes called out as he stopped walking but offered a wave as the car traveled on.

"Oh, we will," the youth said as he sank to the seat across from his brother.

"I don't like that look," Al said.

Shooting the younger a sharp glare, Ed's expression then quickly softened. "The old temple not to far from the noodle stand. That's where we are going."

"But, Brother—"

Ed stood up and quickly glanced around. "We need to get off the train now. Come on!"

* * *

**Silence**

There was a disturbed feeling lingering about the staffroom. Havoc could not quite put a finger on it, but it left him feeling decidedly unsettled. He shifted in his chair, but it did nothing to ease that illusive feeling. "Damn, it's quiet." Looking back toward the door to the Colonel's office, he wondered aloud, "Do you think he fell asleep?"

"With that stack of paperwork Hawkeye left him?" Falman asked.

"He's asleep." Havoc dug out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter and let them fall to the desktop. "Hell, I'm half asleep," he grumbled as he rubbed scratchy eyes. Fishing out a single cigarette, he pressed it to his lower lip and then e stole a quick glance toward the clock. "Breda's been gone awhile."

Falman, who had been filing papers stopped and looked at the clock too. "Maybe I should call over to the hospital, see if he's still there."

"Wouldn't be a bad idea."

The door to Mustang's office opened. The Colonel just stood there, looking about the room. "Where is everyone?" he gruffly asked as he approached the desks. His good hand pressed to the edge as if for support.

Quick to respond, Falman said, "Fury and Breda are out and I am unsure where the First Lieutenant is."

Havoc inwardly sighed, glad that the ever-studious Warrant Officer did not give away Fury's unknown location. Last thing he wanted was the Colonel to be thinking about a missing man. Fury could be asleep on a bench in the hospital for all anyone knew, he doubted the little guy could have gotten much more sleep than anyone else had. Pushing his chair back as he stood, he asked, "You want I should bring the car around, chief?""

A weary nod was the only answer.

"Yes, sir." Havoc started toward the door but remembered his cigarette pack and reached for it. Snatching it off the smooth wooden surface, he paused and stared at the table. Shaking his head, he pocketed the cigarettes and headed for the door.

* * *

**Curious Notes**

The Past

"Sir?"

"Doctor," Marcoh corrected as he shuffled through an unwieldy pile of papers. "Major if you must, but I prefer doctor."

Mustang looked at the somewhat disheveled looking man. The image before him was hardly what he had expected of the noted Crystal Alchemist. "Yes, sir, Doctor Marcoh."

The man laughed as he grabbed a few sheets and picked up a several loose items before roughly shoving them into a medical bag. "I see, as usual, Grand is in a hurry."

The young officer said nothing, possessing no answer to Marcoh's comment. He glanced about the office and realized it looked about like the doctor—disheveled. Papers were everywhere. Books lay open, stacked in piles and were in general disarray. He wondered how the man could find anything at all.

Near his feet, he spied an old alchemic book lying open face down on the floor. Kneeling down, he picked up the ragged tome, a generalization on the principles of alchemy, and looked it over. The lettering was printed in a bold, block text on thin, deeply yellowed paper. Red pencil marks underlined phrases and arrows pointed to notes crudely scrawled in the margins.

One underlined passage caught Mustang's attention.

_All things are poison and nothing is without poison; only the dose makes that a thing is not poison._

He flipped through a few pages, looking for more underlined passages but instead paused at a curious notation in the margin.

_Hohenheim Elric. Theory of human trans…_

The lettering faded out but it was more than enough for him to know. He had heard that name before. Even his teacher had mentioned it a time or two, but was dismissive of the man for his arrogance. Abuse of power, he seemed to remember his teachers exact words being. His teacher had little use for men who would use their power selfishly.

"It's just been one of those days," Marcoh said as he pulled the book from Mustang's hold and quickly closed it. "I've just been so busy, I can't even bother picking up an old reference text that has fallen on the floor." He looked down at the dusty floor and scuffed at the surface. "Place needs cleaned," he absently noted as he carried the book to the desk and slipped it into a narrow drawer, which he proceeded to lock. From atop the cluttered desk, he grabbed a black briefcase and the bag he had been filling.

With a heavy sigh, Marcoh announced, "I guess I am as ready as I'll ever be."

Mustang nodded and led the way to the door. He knew whatever was in that case was very important and the reason he had been sent to escort the Crystal Alchemist to camp headquarters.

Behind him, Marcoh hesitated and then whispered, "And now I will no longer be the only one damned."


	23. Movement

**SeekerAstria **- Thank you so much for sticking around. I think my transitions are rough is because each section was posted individually but I'm putting a couple together here so I don't continue to draw this story out any longer than need be. **jenelric** - Thanks! **Krows Scared** - Hope this is soon enough. **starshine** - Thanks! **Kyorma **- Sorry about the sleep loss, hope it lives up to expectations.

Thanks everyone for the kind replies.

* * *

**Movement**

The Present

The door to Mustang's office flew open and Hughes burst in. Crinkling in a tight grip, he held a map he had picked up on the way back from the train station. It took him a moment to realize the room was empty. Not good, he thought as he stalked to the staffroom door and pulled it open.

Still no Roy, but he found Falman, Hawkeye and Breda all standing around one of the desks.

"Where's Roy?" he quickly asked as he shut the door behind him.

"Havoc took him home," Falman said. "He was looking quite unwell, sir."

"Well, that's good." Hughes rubbed his forehead lightly. At least he would not have to worry about Roy being in the middle of it all.

"But we also have a problem," Hawkeye said evenly. "MSG Fury is missing."

Before he could question further, he saw what the three had been looking at, a smashed pair of black framed glasses.

Breda picked them up. "After I couldn't find him at the hospital, I headed over to the dorms hoping he had just overslept. I found these on the sidewalk."

Slowly pulling a chair from a desk, Hughes heavily sank to the wooden seat. The crumpled paper coming to rest on the desk in front of him.

"Do you think she's taken Fury?" Roy would be pissed but—

"Sir?" Hawkeye asked.

"I wouldn't be surprised, sir," Breda said. He scrutinized Hughes for a moment. "You know where she's hiding."

Three sets of eyes settled on the Lt. Colonel. He sighed. "I'm not positive, but I have an idea."

"Let's take her down," Breda said firmly.

Hawkeye shook her head. "It could be a trap." She frowned. "Still."

"Then we be careful," Falman interjected. "Where is she?"

"The Temple of the Sun God in the Remnant."

The rich amber depth of Hawkeye's eyes shimmered with an old fear as she stared off across the room. "It's like Medes all over," she whispered.

Shaking his head, Breda said, "She doesn't have the people at her disposal like last time. The Hareti, for the most part are gone. You and the Colonel took out half of the ones that are known to be with her."

Reaching across the desk to where Hughes sat, Hawkeye grabbed the piece of paper he had carried in. Smoothing it out, she laid it so all could clearly see it. "This is an old map."

"They didn't have anything of the construction area and I didn't have time to hunt something up," Hughes responded.

A blue pencil was pulled from a holder and Breda traced a large circle around a group of structures. "All of this is cordoned off and abandoned."

"They are going to expand south," Hawkeye said, "and add some more housing, demolish this run down area. The city planners want to rival Central."

"Not too many people hanging around either," Breda noted as he stroked his bearded chin, his mind already plotting a game plan. He looked to Hughes and asked, "Are we keeping the Colonel out of the loop?"

Hughes straightened. "If possible."

Studying the map again, the 2nd Lieutenant pressed his finger to an intersection near where some construction was currently going on. "We'll need back up but we want to keep a low profile and at a distance. We can't afford to spook Rhodes and the Hareti now. They're so few in number they could slip away without being noticed."

"Like how they got here," Falman noted.

"Yeah." The red haired man then looked back at Hughes and Falman who looked on curiously. "Guns," he said looking at Falman. "We need to be ready for anything."

"Yes, sir!"

He then glanced at Hughes. "Sir, we need men."

Hughes smirked. "I think I can handle that."

When it was only Breda and Hawkeye left, he met her eye. "If this was Medes, where would the attack come from?"

* * *

**Trust**

There was, even so many years later, a place in Jean Havoc's mind that still heard the clicks of an empty gun chamber. He did not see the woman holding the gun, nor the man she was attempting to fire on, all that he possessed was a sound over the crackling din of a burning city.

He could still see Hawkeye vanishing into the thick cloud of dust and smoke that surrounded him and the expectation that he would never see her again. Funny thing about that memory, he had calmly accepted that he was dead; it was only a matter of time before the dark cloud closed in on him and took the light away.

Years later, he could hardly accept that it had been so easy and thought he would not face his demise with such grace when the time came upon him again. Though if he were lucky, an unexpected bullet to the head would make the passage easier.

In that place, where the memory resided, he knew death did not come. Instead of lying there, waiting for the cloud to choke the life out of him, he saw figures moving about.

Shadows taking on human form.

He remembered the Colonel, then a Major, stepping from the haze and pulling him to his feet. It was an unnecessary cruelty he thought at the time, so much pain, but urged on, he managed to walk with a great deal of support. The other men seemed to fall into place behind he and officer he leaned against as they walked over the debris covered road toward light and fresh air and a working vehicle.

He glanced back into the rearview mirror as he cut the engine of the car. The Colonel sat forward with his head tilted downward. He did not look so good and Havoc doubted he should leave the man alone.

Jumping out of the car, he pulled open the back door and waited as the Colonel took his time getting out. A gloved hand pressed to the doorframe as he steadied himself.

"I can always whip back around to the hospital—"

"I'm fine," Mustang growled but it did not possess his usual fierceness.

"If you say so, Chief," he said, tipping the cigarette up and down as he closed the door and walked a few steps ahead of Mustang to open the wooden gate but paused and looked at the dark clouds rolling overhead. In the distance, he could see the deep blue of approaching rainfall.

After what seemed forever, Mustang made it up the few steps to the door of the base house he called home. He fumbled with the keys, trying to shift them around in his good hand, but he could not easily separate out the right key to the door.

"I could help," Havoc said.

"No," came a stern but frustrated reply.

Havoc nodded with his usual understanding and switched his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other while he searched his pockets for his lighter.

The keys slipped from Mustang's gloved hand clattering to the floor. Havoc was quick to kneel down to pick them up. He knew almost immediately his mistake.

The Colonel struck him across the back of the head sending him falling to the landing like a bag of sand. "Damn," Havoc muttered as consciousness faded.

"Sorry about that," Mustang said as he pulled the black sling off. Carefully—painfully—he straightened his injured arm and then knelt before the unconscious Havoc and picked up not only his keys, but also the car keys still in Havoc's grip.


End file.
